To
doubt no quarter should ever be given,
that
pebble in the shoe; worm in the apple,
beam
in the accuser’s eye. On one seesaw’s
end,
the
fundamentalist tends its grave,
while
beyond the pales, the inquisitor goes
to
great length to rid himself of its stench,
to
soothe if not to quench its constant roil and prickle.
It’s
not speculation so much the enemy
as
its disreputable companion uncertainty;
tamping
down the dirt, pretending it doesn’t breathe
or
squandering valuable prayer time doing battle,
the
strategy and research to chase it
from
our well-ordered lives. For how can we
lovers,
the
great faithful ones look ourselves in the glass
if
we find not there conviction?
O
child of God, queries and uncertainty are quirt
and
spurs to propel you toward the goal.
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