Wounded
A five-year-old boy
uncomfortable with everything…
his haircut,
his teeth,
his family,
himself,
stands silent with extended arms
in a fifty-three-year-old body,
too sad to speak,
not even knowing what he would say if he could,
longing for loving attention.
Believing that Jesus is embracing him,
yet not feeling it.
Believing that love can heal all wounds,
yet not feeling it.
Longing to be free of what is a big part of himself,
yet at the same time
not wanting to run
or hide
but instead celebrate his deepest self.
Who am I, Lord?
You are my beloved,
wounded,
cherished,
a source of my joy.
I suffer with you,
I suffer in you,
and I call you to greater freedom,
freedom, not forgetting,
forgiving,
accepting my love,
and the truth of our goodness
and adequacy.
I am with you in your brokenness
because it is my brokenness too.
Allow me to be resurrected through your triumph.
Praise the Risen Christ who lives through me!