Wednesday, December 30, 2009

african child

Holding you in my hands,

I see your tiny feet and hope you'll live and walk these stony paths to the pump to get water.

Blessing me with your meekness and gentleness,

you are Jesus to me today.


Asking for holes in the palms of my hands and receiving you instead.

Seeking holes in my feet and finding this road winding to mud bricks and thatched roofs under baobab trees.

The stigmata,

in the holy poverty of an unknown African village where suffering and love are found in their wholeness.

Knocking on the door for the hole in my side, I am opening it into the life of a broken child.


Listening to you,

I understand that you are an end in yourself and not a means to an end.

Looking at you,

I see that you are a beginning in yourself and a new way for me to see.

Loving you,

I feel you living in my heart. Suffering love.

Sent from my BlackBerry® smartphone with Nextel Direct Connect

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