The Rock

Nestled in the valley,
at the mountain’s edge.
Lies a tiny village,
Their faith in God, they pledge.

The land was rich for farming,
and produced abundant yields.
Livestock thrived and families grew,
amidst the grassy fields.

From mountain ice caps high above,
crisp, clear water fell.
Through crooked creeks and waterfalls,
and filled the peoples wells.

They lived in peace and prospered,
as generations passed.
And found themselves in need of more,
the tiny stream was taxed.

Cattle thinned and meadows dried,
the water stayed the same.
We need more, the people prayed,
Their faith began to wain.

Then one day, the sky grew dark,
And rain clouds danced about.
All our prayers are answered,
They all began to shout.

Suddenly, the storm grew worse,
they saw the lightning flash.
A rock, atop the mountain ridge,
Was struck with deaf’n crash.


As the massive rock rolled down,
the little village shook.
And when it finally came to rest,
it blocked their tiny brook.

All their faith in God was lost,
as they watched their water stop.
Just when we needed God the most,
with us, He was not.

We prayed for more, and we have less,
their faith seemed so absurd,
No God would ever let them down,
their prayers were never heard.

We must solve this by ourselves,
they thought themselves alone.
The people then devised a plan,
on how to move the stone.

With picks in hand and shovels, too,
the people toiled for days,
They chipped and dug, to no avail,
they’d find another way.

The villagers, with futile tries,
and others, deep in thought.
Tried to think of what to do,
to save them from their lot.

Suspecting their demise would come,
they lay down that day,
Exhausted from their vain attempts,
they all began to pray.

Forgive us Lord, we lost our way,
they sobbed their desperate pleas.
When you did not come, forthwith,
we lost our faith in thee.

Just then, they heard the children laugh,
as they gazed out in shock.
All the babes danced merrily,
around the dreaded rock.

Just beyond the boulder,
pooled up behind the stone.
Was all the water they’ll ever need,
a glistening lake had grown.

When our prayers seem unheard,
and troubles seem unjust,
It doesn’t mean there is no God,
It only means to trust.

© 2005 Linda Kall