Pocket Change And Poetry

Pocket Change and Poetry

It had been there all along—that artless origami of dollar bills and one stray penny. It traveled who-knows-where with me, undisturbed, until I slipped my hand into my pocket and felt its tiny crush. I had with me something I’d forgotten.

The denomination of those bills in no way dimmed the delight of having found them. When seasons change and we slip into things we haven’t lately worn, who knows what good those silent pockets hold?

Seasons do change. A season of threat or challenge ends like a sigh—so imperceptibly that the crease of time is never felt or seen. A season of quiet joy is interrupted rudely with an awful surge of shock or pain impossible to foretell. Even so, someone has been there, all along. He is surprised by nothing. He is, and was, and is yet to be—everlastingly present.

O LORD, you have examined my heart

Psalm 139:1-3

I may be as unaware of his presence as I am of a secret stash of pocket change, but he is never unaware of me. I couldn’t run if I wanted to . . . and sometimes, I do. No matter. He would find me under any imaginary invisibility cloak and gladly press me home again. His guiding hand never leaves the small of my back.

If I ride the wings of the morning,

Psalm 139:9-10

He’s closer than the loose change in my pocket. Not seeing him won’t make him disappear. In every season, through every change, he is there.

You go before me and follow me. You place your hand of blessing on my head.

Psalm 139:5