I hope your neighbors see your heart
on your sleeve all exposed and its pulsing gives them pause. I hope your neighbors note your soul buried deep all smothered and its ruminating makes them remember. I hope your neighbors hear your mind in your action all devoted and its working causes them to consider. I hope, for this more fiercely than the rest, I hope you will be a neighbor generous who stops to recognize, empathize, and listen. I hope you will move first toward reconciliation. I once picked for my mother
A bouquet of wildflowers, Purple and green and blooming, And she set it primly on the windowsill In a vase and watered, Thanked me, her daughter, With all sincerity. In fact I had plucked a handful of Henbit Weeds from our yard, in earnest, yes, But unaware they made her sneeze, And it was these she accepted so graciously. Motherlove: To see the heart behind the action; To say “come as you are” and mean it; To celebrate meager gifts of thanks, when mountains are owed, Because sacrificial love can never be earned or repaid in full, And the deepest hope is for the loved ones to grow into beings Pouring motherlove out on all those around them, Drawing always from the well-spring source. Motherlove. Motherlove in a bouquet of Henbit weeds. The Spirit moves in a life-breath rush
with single-minded purpose - glory. The sprung-rhythm steps of the Spirit’s dance are deliberate - holy. The Spirit will not be quieted, will not cease in singing the praise song - Abba. The potent wisdom of the Spirit is merciful, timely, complete - worthy. The Spirit will persist in joy, in holding and healing deep things - sovereign. The love of the Spirit burns, throbs, cleanses, and brings peace - Emmanuel. |
AuthorI write to process. I write to explore. I write with the hope of sharing truth greater than my own. Archives
February 2022
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