You know me and you love me
even in the darkness of my fear,
you are close and you are calling
even in my wretched gut-despair,
you know me and you love me
and you ache to make me whole,
you take my million broken pieces
and mould them into one,
you weave my light against my shadow
braiding lines of beauty, threads of grace,
till each scar is like stigmata
a jagged lightening trace,
revealing all that’s hidden
all I could not face,
for you use my shards of weeping
as you build your masterpiece,
drawing real self out of darkness
to stand in sacred space,
each piece of love
and pain and failure
held by holy scars
till I be-come
like you:
a wounded healer
with broken hands;
the breath of God
in flesh of man.
by Kristin Jack, who lived with his family for 17 years in Cambodia. From his book Poetry and Prophecy
