| Welcome! | The Book | On the Horizon | Dahl - Writings | Portions | PodWorks | Prayer Requests | Links | PDL Store | Bubbles |
God in a Box
 by Bill Dahl - All Rights Reserved - 2010 - Photography by Bill Dahl
Walking through life today,
A stranger appeared - in my way.
A beautiful box tucked under arm
His eyes met mine, I felt his charm.
He pasued and then stooped down,
To adjust his mismatched socks,
My curiosity spoke up;
“Hey Mister - What’s inside your box?”
He looked up
And smiled at me.
“If you have a moment,
I’ll let you see.”
We sat down together,
On a nearby bench.
He placed the box between us,
Unleashing his obvious clench.
I looked upon
His ancient face.
Content and calm
Alive with grace.
He looked straight ahead
When he began to speak:
“I’m headed over yonder,
To the shore of Solomon’s Creek.”
“Why the package Mister?
It’s beautiful. What’s it for?”
My question seemed to startle him;
Appeared to touch his core.
“I realize what you might think,
My response, it may seem odd;
But since you’ve asked, in this box ---
Well, it contains my God.”
I was startled!
As my hand slapped his knee.
“Come on Mister –
That just can’t be!”
A genuine smile erupted
Across his wrinkled face.
Peace hath descended,
The warmth of sacred space.
“Open it! They told me.
Memorize the beliefs within.
Repeat our simple creed,
And you shall be freed from sin.”
“My son died at eight years old.
Ten years later, death took my wife.
The certainty they led me to believe.
Wreaked havoc in my life.”
“Sufficient, All, Enough, they said:
Your faith is now complete!”
“This box that rests between us,
Was laid conveniently at my feet.”
“I’ve had this box up on a shelf,
For twenty seven years.
The inadequacy of its contents,
Have been the genesis of my tears.”
“As I arose from bed today,
I heard the chimes, of my wife’s clocks.
In some strange way, I heard her voice
It’s time to release the box.”
“As I began to wrap it up,
A voice whispered in the air:
“Man’s desire to know Me,
Is not confined in there.”
“So, I embarked on a journey today,
To move beyond this box of belief.
When I encountered you my friend,
To hear my story, share my relief.”
I rose up and stood before him,
Tears cascading down my cheek.
“It would be my privilege Mister,
To go together to Solomon’s Creek.”
He staggered to his feet,
His eyes held both wonder and alarm.
Perplexed by my willingness to walk with him -
The box tucked underneath his arm.
We held hands and walked away,
Down the path, toward the creek.
Not a word was spoken,
Sacred moments rarely speak.
As we came upon the stream,
He crouched down at the shore.
I heard him as he laid it upon the water.
“There simply must be more.”
He stood up and grasped my hand -
As the box drifted out of sight.
I turned and looked up at his face -
A soul had just released its plight.
“Go on now little child,” he said.
“Never forget this day.”
“Listen for the Spirit’s voice -
As He guides you on your way.”
We met each month for several years,
On that same bench in the park.
He would send me on my way-
Home - well before it was dark.
Today, I stand here alone -
On the shore of Solomon’s Creek.
Recalling all our conversations -
The wisdom he did speak.
As I crouch down at this blessed place,
Reliving all our talks.
I lay my parcel in the stream.
Releasing my God in a box.
Requests for permission to reprint or use this material in any form are required. Please contact wsdahl (at) bendbroadband (dot) com to request the same.
|
Welcome! | The Book | On the Horizon | Dahl - Writings | Portions | PodWorks | Prayer Requests | Links | PDL Store | Bubbles © 2005/2006/2007/2008/2009/2010 Bill Dahl | site design by IDCI No part of this site and/or the contents herein may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher. All rights reserved. Requests for permission to reproduce or disseminate any part of any material on this site should be mailed to: Permissions Department, Bill Dahl Redmond, OR. |