Sons of Zebedee

Several nets:
Not that many, but they are enough.
We cast they daily, and they,
in turn,
return full, brimming with fish, with contentment.

Flourish? Yes, sometimes.
But even when we flounder, we fish.
The squares of our nets bind our lives
Like so many bricks, so much mortar.
The are our purpose, our way.


Until
one day
He arrived.

He said very little - just watched us at our work
(we were mending the nets, I believe)
Tying the worn little squares back together.
We sat there, silent, both waiting.
But that gaze! In His waveless eyes we felt
The Lake after raising a storm
The Sky when the moon's barely up
The Wind when it blows in the Spring
And we loved Him.

"Follow Me," He said.
So we did.
Left our nets
And our Dad
And climbed aboard this Man's ship -
Oarless, netless
And fearless as if we'd had many.

I still remember the first puffs on the road, walking after Him,
Following Him down His path, toward His purpose
Following Him to the Deep we had craved.

We had found our true Way.