After Philippians 1:12-18
I didn’t expect to end up
like this, chains on my arms
and legs, and a dank, dark cell;
it’s not exactly what we’d call
entering the city in triumph.
I must have missed
the commemorative arch. And
the waiting – a prison cell
of its own, day by day,
waiting to be called and
heard. There is no king
but Caesar; indeed?
Suffering becomes self-pity
becomes anger, until the day
the guard asks me to explain,
and I do. Then another guard
asks, and the prisoner
in the next cell as well,
silencing his own chains
to listen. Then I understand,
only then, that I am here
in this place, even this forgotten,
condemned place, to serve
a purpose, the help fulfill
a plan, and I am struck with
wonder that even the bad stuff
is the good stuff.
Photograph by R. Martinez via Unsplash. Used with permission.
