Me:  Prodigal, your wagon is all empty!

Prodigal:  I know.  All I can say is that one day you’re the peacock; the next day you’re the feather duster.

Me:  Very true Prodigal!  Let me share this poem for all those that are feeling like a feather duster.

 

One by one God took them from me,

All the things I valued most,

Till I was empty-handed,

Every glittering toy was lost.

And I walked earth’s highways grieving

In my rags and poverty

Til I heard His voice inviting

“Lift those empty hands to Me.”

So I turned my hands toward heaven,

And He filled them with a store

Of His own transcendent riches

Till they could contain no more.

And at last I comprehended,

With my stupid mind and dull

That God could not pour His riches

Into hands already full.

 

Anonymous

 

Psalm 37:1-2

Do not fret yourself because of evildoers, be not envious toward wrongdoers.  For they will wither quickly like the grass, and fade like the green herb.

 

Jennifer Van Allen

www.theprodigalpig.com

www.faithincounseling.org