Being Saved
An old man
crouches in a November rain
calling a little dog.
From the dark cage in a puppy mill
to the universe of a fenced yard,
she runs wild, drenched and trembling,
desperate for what she doesn’t know.
His sciatica aches.
He chases, pleads, swears, plots.
He stays with her through
the cold afternoon,
until help comes and she is caught,
carried, wrapped, warmed,
held fast—
home.
—Barbara Esch Shisler, author of the Kingsview & Co post “Imagining God’s Imagination,” is a retired Mennonite pastor and spiritual director, active in her Perkasie Mennonite congregation. Her life as wife, mother, and grandmother is filled with friends, gardening, dogs, movies, books and much more. Reading and writing poetry have been a lifelong joy and learning. She is author of the collection of poems Momentary Stay (Cascadia/DreamSeeker Books, 2015) from which “Being Saved” is drawn by permission.
Editor’s note: As Pope Francis electrifies many with his vision of mercy and compassion for all humans and creatures and earth itself, I see Barbara Shisler’s “Being Saved” as naming honestly the chasing, pleading, swearing it can take—even as she opens our hearts to the tenderness of being carried home by God and each other the Pope is inviting.
It was autumn, and I was walking through an incredible explosion of color. The day was silent except for the crunching of leaves under foot. I was so inspired by the smells and a feeling of expectation that I began a commentary, directed toward the Almighty (I suppose). The conversation took place in my mind, of course, since it wouldn’t do to be seen talking to someone who couldn’t be seen (except while you’re in church, of course).
“What a beautiful world you’ve created, Abba. The colors are so pretty. Everything fits together so nicely. Why, even the birds don’t seem to collide in mid-air very much. Have you done this sort of thing often?”
I really wasn’t expecting an answer. (One doesn’t, you know; conversations with what-one-expects-to-be one’s self usually end up being a bit one-sided.) Even so, a soft voice stirred like the whisper of a gentle wind in my mind.
“How often have you taken a breath?”
Whoa! Hello there! Suddenly I saw all of Creation as a single breath of God: a “breathing in” and a “breathing out,” as it were. It was as if all of Creation emanated from a single point, and I tried to conceptualize how big such a God might be.