An older poem came across my world today. Perhaps you know it? “Digging” by Seamus Heaney. You can read the text by following this link, and you can hear the poem (highly recommended) by following this link.
It’s a deliberately constructed poem, complete with memories, movements, sights, textures, and sounds, but my favorite part is the last part:
But I’ve no spade to follow men like them.
Between my finger and my thumb
The squat pen rests.
I’ll dig with it.
In the face of heavy tradition, of generations of men before him, Seamus Heaney stands his ground with his sturdy tool of choice.
This poem makes me ponder my tools of choice. What do I choose to carry as I go forth into my world, into my community, beyond the traditions of the generations that came before me? What do I use to make my mark?
What about you? What tool do you choose?