Every Six Steps: A Poem about Reaching

Yesterday I read how they

built a cart, spanking new and sturdy,

to bring You to Jerusalem.

But why the cart?

To save men’s shoulders?

Did a pole break?

Or did they forget the way

You said to carry You

so they’d be safe from

the hot terror of undiluted

Glory’s lightning, Love’s furnace.

Did they think they could touch Holy You

without the blood price You

would later pay?


Then, a slip—and

Uzzah reached.

I imagine you wept

when he died.


Footprints on sunny Hawaiian beach

Without the cart, they tried again,

your way this time.

David danced ahead, but

after six steps,

only six steps,

he turned to You.


What if I called your Name,

every six steps?

Returned your reach that often?

What slips would I dodge?

How close would we be?


(2 Samuel 6:13)

Tracks in snow

© 2019 Cheryl Bostrom – Every Six Steps: A Poem About Reaching

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Love the outdoors? I can take you there. Rural & wild PNW posts and photos from a naturalist, faith writer, and author of three books, including the award-winning novel Sugar Birds. Member of Redbud Writers Guild.

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