when you see me,
what do you think?
Do you think of all the things I could be doing?
Of how when you were my age you had conquered evils,
and written books,
and been in ecstasy,
forgiven your enemies?
Do you laugh at me when I sit down and watch TV,
saying to each other "She will never be one of us!"
When I shrink into a state of darkness,
do you shake your head at how fragile I am?
You, you, you.
I can't imagine that you do, my brother/sister/friend.
For you know my Father.
I can only think that when I sit in the chapel,
and stare at your picture or statue or card,
you sit yourself next to me.
You look at me,
maybe take my hand,
and say "I know."
You inspire me to be something more than I am.
When I ask for your help,
you are always, always there,
reaching out a hand.
Even from Heaven,
you show me what it means to love like Jesus.
Without counting the cost.
You. You. You.
You are teaching me what it means to give and not count the cost.