The Heap
It lay among the tangled weeds,
Behind the falling barn,
Out beyond the low rock wall,
On the fringes of the farm.
One look would be enough to know
Its better days are past
And anyone could, at a glance,
Think this locale would be its last.
But greater minds than mine have said
That looks can be deceiving.
So one can never be too sure
That this old car will not be leaving.
For there are folks who look much deeper;
What at first seems a mass
Of tumbled, jumbled, metal parts,
Tattered seats and broken glass.
Collector is a name he's called,
Restorer fits as well.
He brings new life to cars abandoned;
Knows each one has tales to tell.
He works and bends, molds and straightens,
Tinkers, toils, forms and fashions,
Working long and hard it's clear
That these old cars consume his passions.
'Til finally the wreck's restored
Unto its former glory.
The owner loves to have the chance
To tell the transformation story.
Have you ever had the sense
That you were sitting past the fence,
Beyond the realm of usefulness
In brambles thick, with life a mess?
You feel you have no value left,
And find your life just so bereft
Of pith and possibility,
But wish from life to be set free.
There is One who used the cross
To bring back ones like you from loss.
He brings new life to those who fail
Or wear out under life's travail.
He gently bends and shapes the piece.
Sometimes it seems the pains increase,
But in the end it will be clear
That in his work he holds you dear.
And though not everyone will see,
The value will increase to be
Much more than what it's ever been;
Much greater than your greatest sin.


Lauren Lilly, 1993