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Me.
I rub my forefinger along the line where no hair grows. I remember. My body was broken when I brought life into this world. Twice it broke. Twice it hurt. I am broken. Her. She has no scar, but she remembers. Her body was broken when she tried & tried to bring life into this world. A thousand times broken. And people who knew not what they did called her Barren. Broken. Ella. Her body is covered in scars, she will never forget. Her body was broken when she tried & tried to cross that border to bring life to the life she brought into the world. A thousand times broken. And people who knew not what they did called her Illegal. Broken. You. Your body keeps Love's score. We will never forget. Your body was bruised and broken and beaten as you brought life and light into the world. A thousand times broken. And people who knew not what they did called you Names. King of the Jews. Broken. King of my broken heart. King of the broken hearted. King of the broken.
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I walk with my eyes closed down a path I barely know.
I ask the trees to stand for me, because I do not feel strong enough today. I ask the small brooke to dance for me, because I do not feel energetic enough today. I ask the wind to sing over me because my song is not within grasp. And Mother Nature in her infinite wisdom reminds me: That the trees stand whether or not I feel strong. And the rivers dance whether or not I feel their energy. And the wind, she is always singing over me. I open my eyes and breathe a new breath. {inspired by Mary Oliver's Morning Poem} If I speak 20 languages, or even 2
but let go of my first Love, I am all noise. If I call out false prophets but let go of Love, I am nothing. If I hate what God hates but have not love, I am my own enemy. If I endure patiently & work tirelessly for God but have forgotten my first Love, I gain nothing. If I take a vow of poverty or simplicity & sacrifice tangibly but have not love, The Spirit is not upon me. (1 Cor 13 | Rev 2) |
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