Ask

Who do they think they are?

What if they did it my way?

When will they be more like me?

Where did they learn that was acceptable?

Why do they make that choice?


If they would just quit.

If they would just exercise.

If they would just go to church.

If they would just try harder.


What if we stopped pointing our invisible fingers into the faces?

What if we asked instead?

What if we were brave enough to shut our mouths and listen to the answers?


Instead we assume we know.

Instead we guess.

Instead we wound with our "knowledge."


If we were silent?

If we quieted our preconceived ideas?

If we looked into the eyes of all of us?


Would a piece of us connect to them?

Would we feel compassion instead of false pride?

Would we find ourselves in the stories of these?


The addict to substance?

The addict to lust?

The addict to pride?


The thief of possessions?

The thief of innocence?

The thief of love?


The murderer of body?

The murderer of souls?

The murderer of hope?


We are all guilty.

We are all wounded.

We are them.

They are us.


We all have a story that needs to be heard

Not filtered through judgement and pride

But filtered through compassion and love.


Stop the labels!

Look into the eyes of the soul!

Listen to the source of the pain!


And when we are brave enough to do this

The questions will disappear.

Tenderness will soothe.

And we will heal.


Because we are them

They are us

We are the same.

Flashfloods

Flashfloods of bitterness

Lies decomposing the truth

Hatred aimed at hatred 

Believing it will protect my heart from others' jealousy, revenge, lack of forgiveness.

Convinced it will protect my soul and body from harm 

Deceit so deeply rooted, it is hard to fight. 

Almost impossible. 

Almost. 

But a faithful few

Those standing on the frontline

Praying for truth

Protecting 

Waging war against distortion that devours peace

Believing there is better

Not abandoning because of my lack of perfection

Staying to fight a battle that would be lost if left in silence,

Offer hope that blooms in the knowledge that I am not forgotten