By Sarah Spradlin
Sister, I see your arms are trembling.
Brother, I see your tears,
your stone-set face,
how this fire
rattling in your bones,
shut up no longer,
has burned you in the telling.
May I be your Aaron?
Do I have your permission,
as you weave a hedge around us with your words,
as you raise your brush like a sword
and your easel like a shield,
your desk like a ladder,
and you lash your hopes to paper in tattoos of paint and ink,
to lift up your arms?
May I care for you,
repair and restore what death and darkness have destroyed
of your many labors set adrift in uncertain waters?
There are so many fingerprints in the dough:
I am uncertain which are yours and which are mine.
But in these potsherds
we have gathered,
we have reforged,
we have refined
that we might reflect the sun:
like the Maker taught us to.
May You, Creator God,
receive our humble offering
as we wrestle with this mantle,
this name You whispered over us in watery wombs,
receive our broken body,
receive Your church,
receive these sore-footed shepherds
who have wandered for many miles
searching for lost ones,
to whom we also belong.
May You continue to bless us with the courage
to seek and find the one
even when ninety-nine looks better for business.
We give thanks for this eternal wrestling,
this beautiful calling
to be artists
without any strings attached.
Sarah grew up in Georgia with her mom, dad, and little sister, Merry. She attended the University of Georgia, where she majored in International Affairs and Agriscience Environmental Systems. After graduating in 2019, Sarah took a job working alongside small-holder farmers in Chinandega, Nicaragua as a missionary with Amigos for Christ. She loves telling the story of the global farmer and nerding out about how nature works. Sarah has been homeschooled, private schooled, and public schooled, graduating from the Madison County High School in 2015. She lived in Costa Rica for seven months, and even hung out in Panama for a few days. She’ll read pretty much anything and has tried her hand at almost every kind of writing, though she likes poetry best. (Although fiction books are making a surprise, now-that-I’ve-graduated-from-college-I-have-time-to-read-again comeback.) But because writing bios is a struggle, if you really want to get to know Sarah, shove some words in her general direction on her Instagram, email her at firstname.lastname@example.org, or visit her blog.