I stray like string

in the wind
untethered from
that tight spot at the bottom
holding me in place.
Anchored there
tension provides strength
for the tune to be played--
a fiddler bows across the tautness
and chords are plied,
played as His fingers
hold me in place.
Snapped, tho', the string
aflutter, undone
there are no songs to
settle there, reverberate
with notes to carry
any kind of melody.

I've lost my place
in the music--where am I now?

Ex nihilo, a hand comes down
repairs the string.
Strong, tight, secure.
I hear the song,
remember the words
find my place in the piece
He's playing.
Words as true as forever
strumming straight, strong and sure.
Zechariah 4:10


  1. There is wonderful comfort in your poem, Jody. The solidity, the sureness of knowing He is there to repair us when we've come "undone" is so very reassuring. Beautiful poem.

  2. Oh, my. This is sheer loveliness, Jody. And when we lose our place? Grace. I love this.