Stick and Stones

Sticks and Stones

By Michael Orr

I built a fort of sticks and stones to live in for a season,

So perfect and impervious to life’s infrequent treason,

Betrayed by loss or sickness here, a little hardship there,

And live within my tiny fort with little need for care.

I gathered sticks from all the places comfort could provide,

My wealth, career and daily goals in which I could reside,

The stones were people near to me on whom I’ve been depending,

To build my fort and strengthen it in case it needs defending.

And then a storm blew in that I had not anticipated,

And blasted all I’d built around me leaving me deflated,

I stared at all the broken things that pride had built in vain,

And looked upon my wretched fort with nothing but disdain.

I longed to find a shelter from the ruin and decay,

That took apart my little fort I’d built up every day,

But nothing I could see was free from life’s corrupting wind,

For now with life turned inside out there’s nothing to defend

I looked within for something that was safe from devastation,

Of strength and purpose in my heart, I made evaluation,

And found myself still lacking since I’d wasted time most fleeting,

On sticks and stones and carefree thoughts,

Both void and self-defeating,

And so I cried, my God! What can I do with all this mess?

I don’t know how to do this, I must honestly confess,

And then within my desperate prayer the answer came so clear,

To my surprise this still refrain was always, ever near.

Oh come to me you burdened one and rest I can provide,

If only in my power and my counsel you’ll abide,

Take my yoke and I will show you how to make a living,

That isn’t based on what you make but what your heart is giving.

I’ll build in you a stronghold that is fortified with grace,

That cannot be torn down as it is in a higher place,

No longer trust in sticks and stones and all the things you see,

For if you want to build a home you must draw near to me.