"Who Am I Really?"
Darrel L. Hammon
I know the names of plants
and animals, of their origins.
I know about George Washington,
Abe Lincoln, and the Desert Fox.
I know about the Green Mountain Boys,
and Nephi, and the stripling warriors
whose mothers taught them well.
I know about dissecting sentences,
plopping verbs where they belong.
I know when not to dangle modifiers
or place commas and apostrophes
where they don’t belong.
I know why I should drive the speed limit,
buy items only when they are on sale,
and bathe once a day.
So why is it that I sometimes wonder
Who I really am?
Shouldn’t knowing be as simple
as making cookies, frosting cake,
painting lilacs on the wall?
Shouldn’t knowing be as clear
as canyon springs,
and picking out animals in the clouds?
Why then do I stumble so
just before dances and the big date
or when she tells me
she doesn’t want to see me again
or when I get a D on a test
or when I don’t get my way
or when my day goes blue at noon?
Why do I lounge deep
in the leather chair,
mope around the house,
and misunderstand what is written
and hovers in my heart?
How can I miss the words,
the plain and simple ones,
that reach from centuries beyond
to my bedroom,
shouting from the roof tops
that it was He who was risen
that it was He who died for me
that it was He in whose image I am
that it was He who said
I would inherit all that my Father hath
and be made one with Him
in the many mansions
prepared for me?
Shouldn’t I know clearly that I am
a son of a Heavenly Father
who loves me?
It seems so simple
when I pray.