I ran across this on Richard’s Beck’s blog “Experimental Theology” (see link below).  The poem, by Henri Cole, is both sad and hopeful.  Sad because it recounts how difficult life was was and still is.  Hopeful because none of us are ever truly left to our own devices.  We, all of us, have a father, and not just a father who contributed half of our genetic material.  A short excerpt of the poem follows, but you can read the entire poem and hear read by Cole by clicking the link below.  I encourage you to do just that.

Asleep in Jesus at Rest: A Gravestone Epitaph

When I was born,
I weighed nine pounds of flesh.
Mother’s hair fell down
the back of her long neck.
Tears ran out of her eyes like animals.
Fragrant convolutions from her insides
filled the room with the strife of love.
Daddy was on a tour of duty.
"Remember you got a father," he used to say.
"You weren’t born by yourself."

from "Remember you got a father," he used to say. "You weren’t born by yourself." by Richard Beck
Posted on Tue, 29 Dec 2009 16:39:00 GMT