Stretch
A poem by Taylor Gilmore
I stretch out my arm to hold the little hand of the little girl
who is stretching way too fast for me.
I want to keep and hold her ‘little girl’ self close, while…
letting her go to grow and become who God created her to be.
Opposing thoughts can stretch a tenuous hold on sanity
We stretch our muscles and our minds until they are
loose and warm and wiggly and ready to do…something.
Faith pulls and stretches.. relentlessly…
until it breaks through boundaries of non-belief.
By faith, Abram stretched into Abraham
and this makes me wonder who I am being stretched into
and how long it will take…
because I know I’m not her…
yet…
Because…
I don’t feel done.
**Note: This poem was written September 2, 2014. I have no idea why it has been sitting in my drafts for three years.
