"God is so free of his own creation that he can transform us in our
pain into a community of people who are able to be free of
the very establishments which are formed in his name.
For these establishments inevitably begin to institutionalize
God's love and then he teaches us (put my tears in your bottle)
what love really is–not our love, not what we want God's love
to be, but God's love."
~Madeleine L'Engle, The Irrational Season
With dirty bleeding hands
we tear at the earth,
ripping tangled threadlike roots.
(no one wants to be connected
wounded and bare,
under all the surface beauty,
threads clinging beneath soft, bright petals
that don't tell the truth)
But as scars open and drip
the life of remembered pain,
a shy green begins to reach upward.
(amidst nourishment in the soil of nakedness
and under the bleeding sun of grace,
my hand finds yours,
and my wounds heal)