Some days call for creative writing and some days call for us to grab hold of the beautiful things written by those from generations gone by. Today I commend to you a poem written by Pastor Howard Thurman some 70 years ago and found in his book called Meditations of the Heart. I have spent many a moment reflecting upon this poem. Each time I read it I find myself falling in love with it all over again. May it bless your soul as it has blessed mine.
The Threads in My Hand
Only one end of the threads, I hold in my hand.
The threads go many ways, linking my life with other lives.
One thread comes from a life that is sick; it is taut with anguish
and always there is the lurking fear that the life will snap.
I hold it tenderly. I must not let it go …
One thread comes from a high-flying kite;
it quivers with the mighty current of fierce and holy dreaming
invading the common day with far-off places and visions bright …
One thread comes from the failing hands of an old, old friend.
Hardly aware am I of the moment when the tight line slackended
and there was nothing at all — nothing …
One thread is but a tangled mass that won’t come right;
Mistakes, false starts; lost battles, angry words – a tangled mass;
I have tried to hard, but it won’t come right …
One thread is a strange thread – it is my steadying thread;
When I am lost, I pull it hard and find my way.
When I am saddened, I tighten my grip and gladness glides along its quivering path;
When the waste places of my spirit appear in arid confusion,
the thread becomes a channel of newness of life.
One thread is a strange thread – it is my steadying thread.
God’s hand holds the other end …