Look at your hands
There are lines so small
you can barely tell they’re there.
And sometimes our cracks
leak and burst and give us away.
But others they drizzle out
a glorious light from inside us.
Because I know we all
have glitter in our veins,
even if you can’t see it
when we walk into the sun.
I know we are all beloved
even if there are no arms around us.
I know that on night’s when we gaze up at the stars
and realize how huge everything besides us is,
that there is a Holy Elephant
whispering that, ‘size…doesn’t…matter…”
He is counting hairs on our head
as we argue the difference of
a trunk or a tail.
While we are searching for Jesus’
long-form birth certificate,
he is singing to us,
‘slow down, you crazy, crazy, child,’
While we are flowing arguments
off our spitting lips,
He’s calling us
from an inter-galactic pay-phone,
‘come home, come home,’
But we are stubborn,
And for every ounce of stubborn,
we are two times fragile.
And it is so unfortunate,
Because it’s the limbs that
just barely survive the storm
that are pruned back.
And so we are pruned.
I told you I believe in Jesus
because The Bible told me.
But that’s not true.
I believe in Jesus because when
I was three-years-old I wandered
away from my Dad at the Wal-Mart
and a gay couple put my in a basket
and walked me around the entire store
until we found my family.
I believe in Jesus because a
pick-up truck full of men pulled over
onto the side of I-35 and taught me
how to change my first flat tire.
If I didn’t believe in Jesus,
I may calmly walk into the ocean,
and so I believe He calmly walked upon it.
I believe a lavender-scented ghost
follows you around everywhere,
whispering in your ear, “be nice,
be kind, be gentle, be loving,”
and you often blow raspberries
right in its face.
I believe a cloud of invisible
smoke hugs you every time
you have a bad day.
And that it is not a giant, white man
who tells it to do such things.
I believe it’s a giant pair of eyeglasses,
because it sees potential in everyone.
I believe it’s a victrola record player,
because it hears everything we pray.
I believe it’s ten-or ten billion-thumbs,
because it always says that it’s all alright.
I believe you die and your
relatives and childhood pets are waiting
for you in an airport lobby.
I believe you dance,
even though you are old.
I believe you sing,
even though you are broken.
I believe you are embraced,
even though you are flawed.
I believe all these things
fall off of you like
clothes after tequila.
(or so I’m told)
I believe in long talks
with The Creator,
and he just says,
‘you are done,
you have fought your fight,
you have run your race,
let us rest now.’
And a couch emerges from
the clouds and you sit and watch
Boy Meets World re-runs together.
I believe the hurt stops.
I believe confusion settles.
I believe that feeling small is permanent,
but that feeling alone is temporary.
I believe our logic leaves us to our own devices
and we find comfort we don’t understand.
I believe our brain only takes us so far
and our heart picks up the slack from there.
But most of all,
I believe that when you cry out,
someone up there hears you
and they want you to know
that they do