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
Monday, April 8, 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.
Love, the Gift
