I saw a girl alone.
She was young and her face was washed with tears.
She stood by the ocean; held in a warm, rough pillow of a hand was her own—trembling and delicate.
Then her eyes fell and lines showed around them, full of worry and questions and washed with tears.
She was old and alone, dreaming of days spent.
She saw her little self, held in daddy’s arms.
She dreamt of a place of love, of mercy.
Not there.
Not there.
I saw a cloud which had her name written upon it: Child of God, beloved daughter of the Merciful Father.
Have mercy on us.
I wept when I saw the girl alone, and wished to wipe away the tears which fell from her loveless eyes.
I wept when she cried out for her father and knew how
He longed to see her return;
And to see her small face lit with deeper joy than black sorrow pierces.
I saw a girl, alone and knew that I was her.
The children press a crown into his weary brow, and spit in their Father’s face, till blood and sweat
Pour down.
They drive nails in the hand which holds them, and pierce His beating heart.
“Daddy,” He cried.
And saw the Heavens turned against him
And His Father spanning the abyss of
Death and love eternal.
And He wept.
Then the earth shook and I saw that it was remade.
I dreamt of a place of love, and of mercy.
I Am here.
I Am here.