It is like a mustard seed.
It grew and became a tree.
Faith can sometimes feel like a broken reed.
But give it time and it will grow by gentle degree.

A crisis erupting so close.
My mind swirls, I prayed to Newman.
Immediately a sense unbidden of peace arose.
In a frail ship of peace I now was a crewman.

The seed you don’t have to see.
But it is there growing.
One day, like birds sheltering in the great branches of a tree.
Your fears and doubts there to will be resting.

Meanwhile I cannot do this on my own.
Into the quiet pool of prayer I can just cast my stone.