inspired by my cousin heather's painting. . .(which i love even more than the original).
i wonder
even with perfect faith
did He wonder
if He would live again?
having never done it before.
before the moment
when He was alone
did we watch?
could He see us?
were tears
stilled and crystal in our eyes?
did we hover hopeful, yet pained for our promised Savior.
did our wings beat about Him, cooling his brow
before He would drink?
did we reach to comfort?
we had made the choice
to trust
to follow
and we watched
our brother
drink
and grow
in a garden.
had we sang at his birth
and cried at his death?
had we watched the
twisting
pleading
t
h
e
n
the
stilling
hearing
and
seeing.
of
us.
us
before Him.
did He cry for the sin He suffered
or did He cry for us
as He saw us suffering,
walking before Him
with etched pain
and mincing feet.
each one.
did He cry at the hurt
we did not yet know
we would endure.
did He reach out to us
swallowing it,
bleeding it;
pores drenched in sorrows
and did we reach to Him
taking comfort,
not knowing our future agony
that He did?
did He see us bloom,
pushing up from broken ground
reborn,
because of His death?
did He hurt at those
whom He knew
would not accept it?
reject the rebirth
and stay in cold ground?
and so He wept
and bled
in a garden
so that we
may grow.
is not He now the angel
in our own gethesemene
reaching
pleading
crying.
do not His arms
and wings of light
enfold us
even if we
cannot see?
we fall down
buried in our sorrows
our hurts
buried in dirt
in the ground
and then we hear
the whisper
around
behind
above
and feel the
tears
--like the ones we shed
as we watched Him--
that are not our own.
His.
His tears.
for us.
we are
watered,
and
we grow.
rising up.
and we
are
reborn.