poem: I believe God may be lonely
God knows the number of gray hairs on my head. When I am sad, He is sad. I figure that He is sad a great deal of the time. People carrying out war in His name, using His son and words and as an excuse to kill, hate. I imagine tears on His face, a great hand pressed against His forehead, watching us, His children, and every now and then, wondering if He has failed.
And Jesus places a hand on his father’s shoulder and with a smile says: “Don’t worry, Dad, you did your best. And most of them mean well.”
God answers, “I know, I know.”
When I am happy, He is happy. He knows the numbers of freckles on my nose and the lines stretched across my palms.
And Jesus places a hand on his father’s shoulder and with a smile says: “Don’t worry, Dad, you did your best. And most of them mean well.”
God answers, “I know, I know.”
When I am happy, He is happy. He knows the numbers of freckles on my nose and the lines stretched across my palms.