July 20, 2024 | By Magdalena Daley | In Faith
My heart is an open book.
But I haven’t paid attention.
Now I’ll actually read it.
The words are blurry and jumbled up.
I need glasses.
Glasses of love.
Glasses of compassion.
I need really strong glasses. The letters are so small.
All piled up in one corner, trying to behave.
We have loose tooth T,
skinned-knee D,
and stubbed-toe E.
Trying to make sense of the senseless sins of humanity.
While A was racing to the top of the coconut tree,
they were being stepped on and shoved aside.
Caught in comparing.
Refusal of sharing.
M is looped.
N is stooped.
O is twisted alley-oop.
Nobody was listening to their experience.
They were left neglected for years.
Decades even.
Take heart my heart!
See with what large letters I’m writing with my own hand. Everybody can’t be Aces!
It takes the whole alphabet.
The smallest letter iota is the first letter in the sacred name of God, Jehovah.
Don’t despise the small beginnings.
Skit skat skoodle doot.
Flip flop flee.
Look who’s coming.
It’s the black-eyed P.
The Prince of Peace.
Beaten for us.
The master writer has arrived. He’ll dust off each letter and give them a hug
and place them in divine order.
Not a straight line.
More like a dance.
A flow.
A movement.
A river.
A love-song.
A living letter written on the heart.
A piece of art.
A masterpiece.
To be known and read by everyone.
UVW wiggle jiggle free
Last to come XYZ.
And the sun goes down on the coconut tree.
The last generation
is you and me.