The Seemingly Impossible

It would be easy to be buried

By the mountains which loom about

The mountains of dirty laundry

Of longing, of fear, of doubt

There are mountains of work and worry

Of bills needing to be paid

Of broken, waiting for repair

Or healing; there are mountains we’ve made…

But then, suddenly I remember

The words Jesus spoke tenderly

‘If we have faith, as a mustard seed

Mountains can be moved to the sea’

So I cling to that grand Invisible

I cannot touch or feel

And by it the seemingly impossible

Becomes conceivably real

© Janet Martin