A poem for Good Friday.
So many deaths.
Losses. Heartaches. Hurts.
They lay upon our lives in a heap - a pile of grief.
We pick them up one at a time.
We hold them.
We remember.
We touch them and let them melt our hearts into tears.
Jesus remembers too.
He remembers with us and allows us to mourn.
The One who suffered for all knows.
He knows that out of great suffering flows great love.
Jesus offers us healing that only he can give.
For out of his torn body, tears and blood flow into a balm.
A balm of Holy Love.
May it flow over us.
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