This open handed, arms wide open love is the hardest thing I’ve ever practiced.  

I don’t know about you,

but I find it much easier to say I love

the widow, orphan, or immigrant that I see on TV or walking on the street

than I do to practice the love with those nearest and dearest to me.  

This no strings attached,

unconditional embrace

is much easier to worship is at a distance.  

Out there.  

About somebody else.

 When it’s in here,

throwing-up at 3:00 a.m.

or complaining about the dinner menu,

this love can feel more like sandpaper than soothing lotion.  

All the same, it’s the sandpaper that seems to transform.  

To soften my hard edges.  

To create something new of me

in me.

It’s this love that seems to 

carve an empty tomb 

in my heart.

I wait for the resurrection

knowing it will come,

trusting this love that breaks the heart

only does so to grow its size.