Today while proofreading my fourth new book for this year, Psalms of My Harvest, I went over a poem that was somewhat of a segue to my forthcoming fifth book, Sage Brushings, which I was preparing to hand over to production. (Of course, I ended up editing it again! Please be patient with me.)
Truly I often feel like that look-alike, dangerous tumbleweed which is simply a facsimile of the hearty, rooted, commendable sagebrush. The tumbleweed is out of control and is blown anywhere at the mercy of the wind. It can easily catch on fire in its dry stage and threatens nature and human life. I must be careful not to ignite my own self-flame, also to avoid senseless burnout which blesses no one.
Burning bush yet not consumed,
Lord, I would be. But generally
my lifestyle seems
more like burnout to me.
My frantic pace emanates
a glow of sorts but hollow
mostly my own aura
of heat and sweat that repels
not draws others to follow.
Often consumed by my own ambition
weary and depleted from speaking
my own words in my own strength
sometimes at length but with no effect,
I don't think, Lord, that's what You meant
when You ignited that plant in the desert.
Wasn't it to show that You speak to man
through any means You choose?
That You can use the ordinary
fired by Your power
yet not altering intrinsic identity?
That You can express Your might through
something rooted in an unlikely spot
or even through a tumbleweed like me
blown about by my unceasing activity?
Burning bush, yet not consumed, Yes, Lord
I want to be. Go ahead and work on me
so I can be Your spokesman and You
can manifest Your flaming words through me.
“And the angel of the Lord appeared to him[Moses] in a blazing
fire from the midst of a bush, and he looked, and behold,
the bush was burning with fire, yet the bush was not consumed.”