TWO STREAMS CONVERGE
A poem for mum and dad.
I come from where two streams converge.
Two different streams by which emerge
New waters and new flow and force.
And this I trace to be my source.
These two steams now flow in me,
Shaping what I do and be.
From one I gained a strength of mind.
The other helped me grace to find.
One brook of crystal, quick and clear,
Looking there, inspecting here.
Pushing on with will its course
With energies from its own source.
The other has a different flow,
Its waters warm, meander slow.
No great thing does it pursue,
It’s happy just to be and do.
Analysis and strength of thought
Were waters that my mother brought.
Will to do and have and be
Were currents that she gave to me.
Dad flows continuance and grace
Into my life at steady pace.
He blessed and loves to help and cheer,
Bearing loads of those held dear.
Yet young these two keen waters mixed
And bonds of hope in both were fixed
That they could flow a happy course,
Convergence giving both new force.
They did not understand back then
The force that flows through mortal men.
That they brought with them in their stream
Weaknesses to mar their dream.
My fountainhead, these two,
Flowed on and passing through
They came to dry and painful part,
That nearly tore them both apart.
Hope gone they planned to part the way,
Too troubled was their stream that day.
But then another stream emerged
And with this troubled stream converged.
Its waters warm and full of life
With antidote for pain and strife.
New course was set, things turned around.
The waters made a sweet new sound.
And so my family flowed on,
With Christ the ever living Son.
And all that’s good in all we be,
We hold in honour Lord to Thee.
At times the strength of either stream
Would stir its waters, oft unseen.
And pull for this or push for that,
Or lose the grip, or make a spat.
The living water, always there,
We had to find or live with care.
The choice was ours from day to day,
To walk an ever living way.
Five streams flow out from our own source,
Each its own mix and its own course.
And each has drawn for good or ill
Waters that flow through us still.
We each have drawn from mum and dad
Things that bring us good and bad.
But also we have drawn from One
Who is eternal Shield and Sun.
And each of us in turn converged
With other streams until emerged
New courses and new waters’ flow.
And ever shall this sequence go
Until each swirling, babbling brook
Stands before an open book
And troubled waters all will pass
As angels sing at a sea of glass.
Great things were brought together here
In what we now call yesteryear.
Great things from dad, great things from mum,
And who could ever tell the sum?
The generations on will scroll
And names be entered on the roll
And still will flow their waters mixed
For purposes that God has fixed.
What years of vanity and pain,
What lives of joy and peace and gain
Have passed since Adam first saw light
And Eve was his for his delight.
Each generation came and went.
Energies aroused and spent.
Great things were won and then undone.
While others quietly passed on.
God simply summarises that
By writing down “and he begat”.
I honour now my mum and dad
For birthing me to good and bad.
And I am now my own mixed flow.
Converged and tumbling on I go.
And in my waters I can see
A crystal brook that’s part of me.
And I can feel the patient flow
That tugs me on the way I go.
What gift I have in both of these.
What strengths they give, my load to ease.
What graces they have brought to me.
What force they give so I can be
The man that God has put in plan
To fill the part in my life span.
For all they gave my heart is glad
And so I thank you, Mum and Dad.
© Chris Field. February 2001
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