© Nancy A. Henry
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Oh you old broken jar 
you are like me, 
no use, no use
but Jesus
if You won’t mend
my shattered soul
let me spill light
from all these cracks
leak life to these dry acres,
be refilled 
from some unseen source
to pour and pour.
Let every gap be a door
into grace.
Let me remember
what blooms from seeming death
in the secret place,
faith multiplying underground
like jonquils
out of the light
under the feet of the disbelieving
who stand shivering
expecting forever
frozen ground.

© Nancy A. Henry (2000)


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