From an Old Barge-Man

For a C.E. on Authorship. 

  It was March 27, 2008, and I was struggling alone at my desk. The teachers at Delta Mennonite School had asked me to write a poem for their year-end program. “Something about the Mississippi River,” they said. I had agreed with some trepidation, having written mostly for my own eyes before. Now time was running out, and inspiration had never come. At last, I began to pray, begging God to please give me something with which I could keep my promise.
    And just like that, He did. With sudden clarity, words started to flow from my pen to the page. In only minutes, the poem was finished. I read over the scribbled lines, curious to see how my prayer had been answered. 

From an Old Barge-Man
 
We had a team of horses
Back when I was young,
Workin' on the barges
From the risin' of the sun.

Down the Mississippi River
With our lines all stretched out taut,
Fightin' that ol' river
With everythin' we got.

No turnin' loose to let 'er win,
But with an iron will,
We sailed her muddy waters
That never quite lay still.

Back then there weren't no steamboats;
We won by muscles' brawn,
And we watched the sun set o'er her
An' were up before the dawn.

The hauls were kind of dang'rous
And far from home seemed long,
But at night the water lulled us
With her steady beatin' song.

Today the river's just the same,
All fight and current swift,
With sandy coves and rocky shores
And broken limbs adrift.

But the tuggin' and the bargin' 
Just ain't the same no more,
An' I'm glad I knew the river
In them hardy days of yore!
 
    I came to the end of the poem and gazed at my paper in dismay. This wasn’t what I had envisioned at all! The rhyme and rhythm were OK, and I didn’t need to edit more than a couple words, but I had been imagining something more majestic, more poetic than poor grammar and rustic barges. 
    That is where things started to go wrong. Just as I have many other times in my life, I decided to take things into my own hands. I sat at my desk and struggled alone, trying to compose something that I thought was worthwhile. After some intense work and frustrated sighs, my efforts yielded not one, but two more poems.
    Now what? Which poem should I choose to give to the teachers? I couldn’t decide, so I finally gave them all three and told them to choose. A few days later, I heard the news. They had chosen “From an Old Barge-Man.” My heart was smitten. I knew that poem had been a direct answer to prayer, an inspiration from God in my time of need. Why had I not been humble enough to be satisfied with His words instead of wasting time worrying over other options?
    Many times since that day I have been reminded of this experience. When God is leading me one way when I would prefer to take another, I remember that without Him I am not even able to write something that is useful. On days that I am challenged to follow His direction in humility, I recollect how useless my own efforts are without His blessing. When I feel his gentle nudge to speak to someone or reach out to others, I know that choosing my own path will lead me away from His grace. 
    Of course there are times of failure. There are days I rebel at the things I am asked to give up or areas where I am asked to give in, but it is my desire to surrender completely to God’s plan, wherever that plan may take me.