Love, the Gift

How can we do this:
To welcome the stranger,
The one who comes unknown
Into our tended, tethered lives
To break our hearts again?
Our days are full,
Too many already make a claim
Upon our patience,
Need something from us
That we are barely able to give.
But now the door opens.
Once again,
We see the frightened eyes,
The wounded heart,
The outstretched hand.
We see something else, too,
If we dare to receive it.
We see the gift
This stranger bears,
The thing that changes us.
It is what makes us holy,
What makes us brave and good.
It is love.

--Timothy Haut, April 28, 2013

Prayer of Thomas

Love me
 for my doubts, my Lord.
 I was not there to see you
 fresh-risen, sore-fleshed,
 wide-eyed at a morning
 stirred with Spring.
 Once I had offered
 to go with you
 when all the others
would have stayed behind,
 offered to step into
 the barrens of death
 to be by your side.
 But your journey
was not mine to make,
 your death so bitter
that no sweet thing was left
for me to seek.
 Forgive me, then,
 your flawed and faithless twin,
 for needing to see you,
 to touch the wounded hand
 that holds my heart still.
 Come to my uncertainty
 with your kindness,
 touch my wounds
with your risen finger,
 and let me believe the song
 that wants to sing in me.

--Timothy Haut, Deep River, CT