Dependence upon God

Preparing for perpetual profession has been stressful. And yet, there is a whole other side to it: the side of silence and of God's love for me, and my gradual, sometimes halting yielding to that love. I was rereading my favorite poet, e.e. cummings and the following poem reminded me of the journey these past years have been, and above all how it is that God's immense power is communicated to us in the weakness and self-emptying of Jesus' or the Spirit's gentle touch.

somewhere i have never travelled gladly beyond
any experience, your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near

your slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skillfully,mysteriously)her first rose

or if it be your wish to close me,i and
my life will shut very beautifully,suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;

nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility:whose texture
compels me with the colour of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing

(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens;only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody, not even the rain,has such small hands

e.e. cummings LVII Complete Poems, 1904-1962