Throne

 It seems certain: 

by love; 

by acts; 

by deeds; 

by fruit; 

one’s faith is indeed, 

at least the size of a mustard seed.

It can be disheartening 

when mountains don’t move or 

hillocks or tussocks or molehills.

Petitions: “Lord, let this medicine, this cure, be the one!” do not obtain, 

and I think, it is precisely here, 

among the throng of those full of 

mockery and scorn, we may 

hear His gentle, reassuring voice: 

to resign one’s self; 

to become humble; 

to lie down and exalt 

ourselves on the throne 

of the sick bed; and to know, 

without doubt, it is 

here, in solidarity 

with all of the befallen:

we begin to move mountains.

Gary Edward Geraci