By Val C. Wilcox

Wellspring without End

Now from my well I fill yet one more pail,
Pretending I am wellspring without end.
Within I wither as my source drains dry
From sprinkling lives of those I love. I try
To water needful friends and never fail
To irrigate up to backyard fence rail.
But garden spot expands until I tend
Whole fields with my few drops and even lend
My nearly empty pitcher. Crops are small;
They thirst—I simply cannot do it all!
Wrung dry, I search for peace through weary prayer
In grateful confidence that God is there.
How good to feel the healing waters roll
And rise to seep again into my soul.

Seventh Child

Sarah would laugh
to think that I feel old,
yet understand better than I
the longing which gives you life
and overcomes the logic
that it has been too long
and six is sufficient
for seed as dust and stars.
Is it your desire
to come to earth
that makes me willing
to give you birth
and further fulfill God’s promise?
What blessing will you bring?
What mission will be yours
in this Saturday of time,
you who are Sarah’s increase
as well as mine?
Could I have kept completely
my mortal purpose and
consecration’s covenant
without you?
Sarah knew much of
altars aging,
offspring waiting,
missions and promises.
Now as we grow and wait,
she would teach us also faith.

[photo] Photo © Index Stock Imagery/G. Baden