In you
your dirt-flecked face
fallow skin and rusted eyes
your pock-mocked arms
covered in mosquito bites
your sweat-stained shirt
fraying seams like hunger pangs
your tightened lips
chapped like sun-dried cinder blocks
your calloused hands
crunchier than dying leaves
your raspy voice
weakened from a lack of use
In you
there is no grief
for absence of true joy
has left you in the dark
unknowing what it even means to grieve.
In you
the tears are few
without another wound
sustained from shouts or fists
reminding you of what it's like to weep.
Here you are: a sacrament waiting to be hosted. Here you are: with soiled feet that need washing.
Here you are: a blessed opportunity for me
to experience God
in you.
In you your hopeful eyes attention-thirst like desert sands
your timid smile
untrained and weak like infants' necks
your shaky hand
that grips the pencil, learns to write
your given name
now newly heard as beautiful
your blooming heart
in need of rain, in need of love.
In you
there is a hope
that one day you might find
a different kind of home
what until now was buried oh so deep
in you.
In you
I see the Kingdom,
I see the image,
I see the likeness,
I see the Christ.
