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By Alice J. Wisler Pockets are for car keys, mints and tissues—the kind my grandmother used to store Wider pockets for a letter, a wallet, a grocery list Carrying, containing, safe-keeping How many times I have looked Wanting to find God inside my pocket To fit my plans, my thoughts, my ways, my desires. Creator of the Magnolia tree, the worker bee, God of miracles, the Red Sea parting, God of the stars and moon and depth of valley Why do I insist that my pocket could contain your magnitude, harbor your excellence and reduce your glory to fit me? Weary, I come to you to beg Living Word, Sovereign, Faithful, Almighty God Gift me larger than pocket faith Save me from myself Alice J. Wisler is the author of six novels, one devotional three memorial cookbooks and Life at Daniel's Place: How the Cemetery Became a Sanctuary of Discovery and Gratitude. She teaches writing workshops across the country. Visit her at www.alicewisler.com.
Alice's other work on Foreshadow: To Words Together (Non-fiction, September 2022)
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