I Don't Know About You, But I Think We Should Show Them

My pastor said something on Sunday that made me think of an image of Jesus that I hadn’t considered in a long time:

Jesus, on the cross—beaten, bloody, and bruised;
Me, kneeling beneath the cross—looking into Jesus’ eyes.
Jesus, on the cross—beckoning me to join him;
Me, climbing up the cross—looking into the eyes of love.
Jesus, on the cross—arms open wide;
Me, embracing Jesus—his broken body folding into mine.

I wrote a song inspired by this image when I was in college. I opened my computer today to see if I’d typed up the song, but I hadn’t. In the process of looking, though, I found another song that I hadn’t considered in a long time. I wrote this song after being introduced not to moving images of Jesus’ compassion but to sad images of a wounded child. Little did I know that that introduction to childhood trauma would be only the first of countless stories that would come to break my heart over the years.

I updated that song today…and the poem that follows means more now than ever.

No child should have to:
know all she knows,
see all she sees,
hurt all she hurts,
be all she is.

No child should have to:
face life alone,
doubt her next meal will come,
feel she’s not good enough,
believe who is she is, is wrong.

No child should have to:
joke to hide all the pain inside,
think she's weak if she cries,
fear the touch of another’s hand,
hear words that wound and damn.

But so many do.

Just look into eyes: shame.
Just listen to voices: humiliation.
Just look at shoulders: heartache.

If only they knew and believed in who they are.

If only they knew they are loved as they are:
Beautifully broken, resilient children of God,
Created and able to grow by the creativity of God,
Redeemed and made new by the grace of God…