DESIGNS
A poem by Mary Ann Archer, Spiritual Director


I tugged until the white string broke in my hand,
            balled it up, tossed it away, then
            started again with another piece.

Around the chair legs,
            under the table, tangled around the feet
            of the buffet, everywhere, the cats
            had rolled a spool of thread.

They left behind a woven labyrinth
             of wild, reckless play.

 And I, compulsive cleaner-upper, 
              saw only a mess to banish
              until I stopped
              and read signs of exuberant life.

Does God, our Good Mother,            
            take snapshots of our chaotic lines, our scattered
            endeavors whose patterns
            only She discerns and loves?

Does She tuck the photos in her scrapbook to treasure,
            delighting in us even when we see no plan?       
           
I resolve to believe so and to abandon myself,
striking out in this direction, or that one,
             or another
wherever Shekinah* beckons,
hoping the Weaver Herself might regard
my haphazard cat’s cradle      
             and call it
             Beautiful.

  * In the Jewish and Christian traditions, the Shekinah is the feminine Divine Presence, literally “She Who Dwells With”.