Poem in a Box by Gloria Guest

“Cast your bread upon the waters:

for thou shall find it after many days." (Eccl 11:1)

I’ve always liked this verse in Ecclesiastes for its mysterious promise and unique suggestion. Biblical scholars suggest that it means to cast our service, generosity, gifts and talents out into the world to bless others and in some way, at some time God will bless that obedience and bring good back to us through it.

This past year I had an experience like this with a poem I had written twenty years ago and forgot about. Then one day; there it was, before a completely different audience than I had previous written it for. It was written for a man named Jim.

I felt that many people did not see who Jim really was and he needed to hear how God saw him and how I did. Jim had stepped into my life as a mentor, a friend and most importantly, a father figure. He was the closest person I had ever felt as a father, on this earth.

I’d forgotten it so completely that when Jim’s wife contacted me to see if she could have it framed and put up on his memorial table at his Celebration of Life, that I couldn’t even remember writing it. It was only when she sent it to me that it came back to me. She explained that Jim had tucked it away in a special box of mementos that were important to him. I was deeply touched and of course said, ‘Yes’ to setting it up on the table.

To add to my surprise, when I arrived at Jim’s memorial and was handed his funeral card, the poem was actually printed on the inside. It made me cry to think of just how much our words can mean to others, when we aren’t even aware. It also reminded me of how our words can come back to us years later, in the most unexpected of ways.

As writers we have the unique opportunity to reach into others hearts, to encourage them along their journeys, and to be blessed ourselves when some sign of the impact of those words that we had cast out upon the waters comes back to us, and we ourselves are blessed.

The Heart of a Good Samaritan

I wonder how he felt that day as he lay by the road,

His body bruised and bleeding, His nakedness exposed?
I wonder if he waited with longing in his heart,

For some kind soul to pass his way, With healing to impart?
Imagine how his heart despaired, when footsteps hurried by,

Belonging to religious men,

They’d left him there to die.
And then it was unthinkable, it couldn’t surely be,

A man who was Samaritan,

Was helping such as he?

With gentle care he bandaged wounds, poured oil on and wine,

And even took him to an inn,

And paid his every fine.
It’s really not so strange to see, it happens every day,

When people quickly pass on by, And leave the injured lay.
But God he searches to and fro for good Samaritans,

To send to hurt and wounded souls,

And be his feet and hands.
It’s not enough to simply say, I hope you’ll soon be well,

Or even say, I’ll pray for you, So sorry that you’re ill.
I’m sure if you were dying now and bleeding by the way,

You’d long for one to take the time,

And step out of their way.
The hearts of good Samaritans are precious, pure and few,

They’re people who don’t just rush on by,

But cross the road to you.

Thank you Jim, for crossing the road to me.

Gloria writes from a small town on the prairies of Southern Saskatchewan. She writes creative non-fiction, memoir, poetry, fiction & more. As a past reporter/columnist she has many articles published in various newspapers in the province. She's furthered her writing skills with classes in editing from Simon Fraser University & Creative Writing classes from the University of Toronto. Currently she has re-started her memoir and is starting up a writers group for youth in her town.