from morning pages

Propulsion

I am a baseball, about to be hit.

Will I go into the first baseman’s glove,

bounce about freely in the field,

or over the fence out of the park?

Let the whack that hurls me be gentle

and may I be that home-run ball

that glorifies Your name.

Or rather, may I be a rocket;

but there still would be a fire at my tail.

I guess if one goes far

one has to go through some suffering.