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,
is much easier to worship is at a distance.
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
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.