I juggled so many glass balls, or at least so it seemed to me–
They all shimmered with such delicate beauty from what I could see.
With each careful toss though, I feared gravity’s eventual toll,
And how they’d be destroyed with no hope of being made whole.
Not only is shattered glass beyond best efforts to repair,
But the shards could hurt others without remorse or care.
So I kept juggling, though my arms were weary and sore,
Doing all I could to keep each ball from the hard, uncaring floor.
Yet though I juggled so many, there was one I long left on the shelf,
Afraid to touch it lest it falls or it breaks at the hands of my broken self.
It glimmered on the shelf for years, with beauty words cannot tell,
But though it was safe, it was so far from well.
What good is its beauty if it stayed tucked away?
It was not made to be hidden from the light of this day.
So, with fear and trembling, I finally reached out to embrace
And in doing so, the rest fell to the floor like they knew that was their place.
As they crashed to the ground, I discovered they are not made of glass at all!
But rather shining plastic that can withstand an occasional fumble and fall.
Still, this new one I now hold seemed much heavier, like a true treasure of glass
And oh, if I dropped it, what horrors would be sure to come to pass!
Yet its Giver assures me it is not like the ones I juggled with prideful dedication,
Nor it is just another ball to add to the ceaseless rotation.
To hold this gift is to be held in hands much more capable than mine,
Ones that do not juggle but rather hold everything in line.
And though my eyes see something delicate, like what I juggled before,
Somehow I know that even when I fail, this will not shatter on the floor.