As I lied, I lied
tears shook your shoulders while you cried:
please stop, and hide the truth no more -
A ghost, poltergeist, an echo at most
left behind when you’ve carved out hope
replacing dreams with ash and lime;
traipsing down the somber street side
blithe and blank with an empty face
no matter the distance down aching lane
turn around and you’re home again
beside a hearth-whole fire
safe inside these walls
It’s amazing how little distance you must travel to find
people hurting. We assume missions are necessary to Africa and Eastern Europe,
or dangerous places for Christians like China or the Middle East, but plenty of
hurt sits next to us on the bus, at the dinner table, or even on the church
pews - perhaps especially on the church pews.
And how do you address such pains, the problems not of meals
and poverty, but of internal poverty and spiritual starvation? How do you
address depression, anxiety, loneliness, anger, despair, a lack of
self-confidence, doubt, pain, or stress? These things our individualistic
society has told us to bury deep within our psyche until they are embedded in
our personality, entrenched in our existence, when a person cannot separate
their identity from stress, pain, and the horrors of ill-relationship.
And I’m an introvert, tentative with hands of healing, shy
with words of comfort, timid with grace and mercy, wordless with exhortation,
bashful with blessing, hesitant with hope and helpfulness. How do I extend
hands that are stuck in my pockets, and how do I open eyes that are
self-consciously staring at my toes, and how do I love when my heart hides in
my sleeves?
Holy Spirit move in me; a susurrus of wind and wave that
washes me from head to feet, and dresses me in neat white linens, and sets me
free to serve and be, and be wholly loving.
These hands that have taken, let them give; these feet that
have wandered, set them true; these eyes that have judged, let them cry with
mercy and grace.
Beautiful.
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