Little legs swung from a Scandinavian named chair from the blue and yellow store
No matter how much they ate
Five bites yet remained
The daily cry was “can I be done?”

The voice of frugal wisdom said “two more and you can be done.”

All my heroes were cut off in their prime
Gospel heroes who became a pin cushion of spears
Leaving widows and children in their wake
They didn’t burn out, they were snuffed out
And here I am – not an enemy in sight
Living faithful and mournful in midlife
Scraping to find energy for daily martyrdom
For prayers, bills, projects, and breaking up sibling fights
How will I have the energy for maybe a half century more of “five more bites”?

The COVID-19 came to our house
My morbid, tired heart said “This may be the ticket to “you can be done””
But my imagined deathbed was a space age mattress sickbed
With a gracious recovery for more daily death to self.

My better half who every minute has a life wish
Plans for beauty and betterment
Said with loving anger “don’t you ask to be done”
Though I don’t know where the strength will come from
My story proves that grace and dollars do come from the sky
So I will fall forward on the grace that ancient saints
Rested their short, rich, and unnoticed lives
The God of daily bread and new mercy’s mornings
Will keep dishing up the bites
With enough grace to wash them down
Until the first unbitter cup and everlasting crown.

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