Fumble FingersA Poem by Chris TaylorFumble Fingers by Chris T. Worn out calloused digits, The tools that I use. My friends and my foes, Milestones of age and duty. Today you fly with the adept flow of an ever-changing breeze, Tomorrow you knurl and freeze like the knots in a toddler’s shoelace. You execute the impulse of my mind and the desires of my heart. Can you please work correctly today? Will you embarrass me in front of my colleagues, my students? If you might be patient enough to let the medicine do its job, You might be one with your custodian, your friend. It makes no sense to curse you or to chastise, For you did not choose your affliction. I won’t let my heart grow cold to your trials, your lot. The letdown will not exceed my joy. For when you are on, your blessing is unquestionable. When it all comes together, accolades are received, confidence builds and joy from the Lord becomes complete. When the Spirit is guiding, lives are touched and God’s field has been plowed. The question: Is my elation worth this price? Yes, oh yes, the push through the pain has merit. The surprise and dismay is a purchase I will make over and over again. For my Lord said suffering would produce endurance, Endurance will lead to character, And character will reveal unto me hope. So, I will be content with my fumble fingers, My small curse and my laboring for hope. The gift of this affliction is not in its suffering, But in it’s producing of a humble and penitent man. © 2011 Chris TaylorAuthor's Note
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4 Reviews Added on September 7, 2011 Last Updated on September 7, 2011 AuthorChris TaylorSioux Falls, SDAboutI am a writer, poet, musician of 30 years, husband, father and follower of the Most High God. I try to let my writing point the way back to a relationship with Jesus. When I am not writing I am probab.. more..Writing
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