Life at the Blue House

The Girl in My Circle

how can I care for
the girl in my circle
when I know a hundred others
by heart?

so maybe it’s discernment
not rose-colored glasses
or self-indulged blindness
that has me centered in
family and church and community. . .
not knowing every story,
or holding all the world.
not exposing myself
to all manner of
and darkness,
gaping wounds
scrolling by.

I can’t wholly love
if I’m going half out
of my mind.
and I am!
fingers flailing,
pulse racing,
spirit aching,
legs numb.

I’m a woman
as a gravestone
ever waiting
for all hope
to die. . .
(that’s what happens,
and I’m patient,
but hope never dies,
never does!

but I can’t keep up
and it feels like loss
to read mere seconds
of all this humanity still in
the middle of questions,
and healing, forgiveness
mercy and grace.

so, I’ll risk looking ignorant
if looking ignorant means
I can better look after
the circle of people
my heart’s been drawn into
by the sovereignty
of God.

I am here.
I am here.
so here is where
I will be.


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