There is an art
to the ministry of receiving.
It requires some deep clearing of one’s pride
the cleansing (in me) of resentment
that I can not somehow
be more, all on my own.
Flex my bicep a bigger bump
to carry my own weight.
Aaaah, but biceps were made for lifting
not pushing oneself up on whatever crutches.
So carry I did
for a day in Gennesaret.
And the pain loosened round my chest
and my eyes cleared to look at the lost and hurting
and my exhaustion faded
(for a moment).
was reminded to lift in supplication
at the altar in Gennesaret
to One who dragged his robe
through the streets of the marketplace
to make us whole.