Here is a poem written by my friend, Linda Foy. Linda is a Quaker and lives in Sackville, New Brunswick.
As you read receive words that open your heart.
All the wooden rails in the new fence
were straight, save one.
That one had the most impressive and peculiar sloop.
And yet the carpenter
had affixed it along with the rest,
and it belonged.
Take heed! Honour the allure of the flaw.
Like my friend who made a quilt
for my soon-to-be born child;
all primary colours and little geometric boats.
One turned opposite to the rest.
“It’s customary” said my friend, “this fault,
so as not to anger God with an attempt at perfection.”
Oh child, enjoy the humour of the flaw.
(My God would not demand imperfection.
My God is in the flaw.)
I saw a blind boy at the beach.
He did not see me.
A beautiful boy, smiling.
A parent on either side to guide him
so that he could feel the give and take
of the sand beneath his bare feet.
He broke open my heart.
But if he’d known this, he might have said,
“Thanks for your love. And so sorry that your feet cannot
commune with the sand like mine.
So sorry that your sight gets in the way.”
My friends, rejoice in the grace of the flaw.