Following night's yonder star

Through the woods You lead me

along the one path to Dawn

to one Tree uplifting

to say, "Into Your hands"

along that road to Daybreak

through the dark wood beck'ning

with tears in the trekking

and vision in the hark'ning

to stare straight through the Night

'long the challenging direction

to entrust self to Your Spirit

the Compass for my wand'ring

Thus I stumble into Dawn

with farewell to my crutches

to the landmarks I had chosen

walking where You'd lead me

to be what You'd make me

following night's yonder star

*Reflections of Sidney Poitier:

-...nowhere along the roads I traveled can I recall ever hearing the words "outsider" applied to me.  I had for years considered myself an old hand at the game of staying alive.  But with failure  walking in my shadow every minute, waiting for the misstep that could derail my whole existence, "survivor" seemed to me a more appropriate label under which my life should be filed.

Over time, however, I began to notice the frequency with which "outsider" was applied to others. The term began to resonate with me, causing me to wonder who I was really, at the center of myself. Eventually, I came to see myself in the outsider, and the outsider in me.  I knew that outsider and survivor often work as partners, but they're not twins.

What was it about outsiders, I wondered, that attracted the curiosity of others?  What made such personalities tick?  What were the forces driving them - forces that kept them intact and in motion, moving to the beat of their own drum, no matter what?  Was theirs a way of life rooted in sacrifice and challenge in defense of nobler purposes and higher values?  Or was it a lifestyle of out-of-control appetites in a materialistic environment?  Were outsiders simply trespassers, obliged by the nature of their lives to be constantly on the alert, known as "one of those" but never as "one of us"?

For me as a young man, the most relevant question was, How might such an outsider expect his life to unfold?  What were the penalties? What beauties occurred and what scars resulted from all those times when a life-altering situation suddenly jumped in his face, blocked his path, issued a threat, or laid down a challenge?  Daring him to pass through if he were foolish enough to think he had the stuff to do so.  "You gotta get by me, if survival is what you're after.  So suit up, Mr. Outsider.  To get where you think you want to go, you have five minutes to become a flesh-and-blood person walking in shoes you've never even tried on.  But first you've got to out maneuver me."

Only in my sixties did I fully absorb my outsider status and begin to settle into some kind of comfort with it.  I'd been on the fringes for fifty-odd years whether I knew it or not, so at last I accepted the likelihood that I would always be an outsider.