The Hurt That Will Not Go Away

With each new comment, she shovels more dirt on top of the mountain-high pile.  Before her mouth opens, I know what’s coming out of it.  She sees nothing that is good; she speaks of nothing that is good.  Her lips and tongue need to be painted black, for what issues from them brings death to love and to hope.

With each holiday, he finds more and more reason to be away.  His career thrives; his family strives.  His reputation among his peers is outstanding, known to many far and wide.  His presence among his family is insufficient; his visits far and wide.

With each year that passes by, they buy me bigger and better toys.  My room is filled with the newest and best of media gadgets.  I break them, I lose them, and replacements come immediately.  My closet is full of name brand clothes, some still with tags attached that I have outgrown.  My friends prefer to hang out here; there are no restrictions, no boundaries.  They think my parents are, like, totally cool.  I wish I had different parents, for these do not know me.

With each car that passes by, I wonder if one will stop by my door.  My house is clean and full of items rich in love, rich in memories.  Oh the stories I could share over a pot of tea.  These knees and hips simply do not hold up like they used to.  A trip to the grocery store each month is all the exercise I can handle.  Strangers from my church drop in from time to time, but not long enough to even sit down.

“This is my comfort in my affliction, 

that Your promise gives me life.” 




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