In writing this morning’s poem, I realized that I have come to hold some of it’s ‘observations’ as facts.; when , in fact, they are observations. Aaah, the lovely thing about Jesus; He holds each story unique. May you feel the power of his reading of your story, and writing you into his own. J
Imperatives
I. we run toward healing
concept of ‘fix’ clutched tightly in hand
imploring
healing, the way things were before
before divorce, before cancer
before loss
before diagnosis of mental illness
if only we could heal ourselves
I should, I must
whooshing up the chimneys of one’s soul
cyclone-like
when the fire has burned itself out
hospice begs one consider another question
healing?
breathing better, or peacefully
allowing to breathe one’s last *
II. in Gennesaret,
healing comes
in meeting the Healer
face to face, masks cast aside
in ‘condescending’
to receive. Jesus could
heal a man (delicate subject)
while having breakfast over the ashes
if you are invited
say yes
one must let go of the clutchings
to take hold of the fringe
jfig 4/2020
I reality, I have been ‘writing’ this poem for years, pondering the imperatives we bring to God when we ask for healing. The woman who was bleeding: what happened in the twelve long years leading up to the moment in which she finally reached out and touched Jesus’ robe, and He felt the power of faith go out? I recognize that thoughts of peaceful and breathing midst our current picture of Covid 19 seem mutually exclusive. If you are experiencing pain and personal loss as a result of Covid, I cannot begin to speak into your story in the moment. Only Jesus…
If you would like to explore further:
John 21:1-19; Luke 8:43-48
Roasted Words 