Help, I cried.
And there was no one to hear.
It was a silent voice, I know. A
voice expressed in my eyes, a cry in the sag of my shoulders. Who could hear?
Who could decipher what I had, for so
long, coded?
Sometimes the thought of giving
up on people creeps in.
Sometimes the wonder of the
worth of chores and labors of love seep into the once quieted mind's places,
and just evaporate.
I wonder what my Lord felt while
here on earth. I wonder what it was he felt when here, among us, trying to
explain who he was to his creation.
Pain and humiliation began long
before the cross.
How blind the blind! How
prideful the turned away necks of the self-satisfied.
How satisfied we are with the
now. How like children we are, in having the large portion of blocks! 'There
are no more than these,' we say, with
greedy, scooping arms. 'And there are no more to be had.' Ignorant of how wooden blocks are made.
Blind to the forest beyond where
our playground lay.
Who will lead them?
Who will lead me?
No real help comes from men.
Friends offer but sincere
condolences. Excuses drip from their lips.
Trust only in hearts turned
toward God.
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