what miracle is this,
that you choose
the bruised
and the broken,
the dimly burning wick,
the storm tossed ,
the meek
and brokenhearted,
the fragile
simple jars
of clay,
the unadorned
and humble...?
+
what love is this
knowing us
for what we are
that binds
and soothes,
fills and mends,
that looks beyond
the surface, and carries
us gently
until we are ready
to walk
again,
lifting us
when we fall?
+
what light is this
that enters
our deepest
darkness
and refuses
to be
quenched?
