Buddhist Catholic Contemplative Evangelical General Christian Hindu Jewish Latter-day Saint Muslim New Visions Progressive Christian

Beliefs

Topics

Columnists

Resource Library

Research Tools

Video

Podcasts

Thought Readers

Faith In Media Tracker

Newsletters

Ad-Free & Subscriber Log-In Subscription Support

Follow Patheos

Barefoot and Pregnant

Home
Catholic
Trying to Write Love

Trying to Write Love

Last updated on: March 10, 2017 at 10:55 am by Calah Alexander

Trying to Write Love 2017-03-10T10:55:23-05:00 Calah Alexander

LOGO Patheos Explore the world's faith through different perspectives on religion and spirituality! Patheos has the views of the prevalent religions and spiritualities of the world.

Hands in the morning

while the sun struggles through the valiant blinds

heavy, flung across our son and me,

sleeping yet strong.

Fingers curling softly in sleep,

each one a thousand pounds

sliding my small fingers between them,

your strength surrounds me.

Days spent in study,

writing, reading,

following Truth on the path to God,

days have not dimmed those hands.

Hands of a man. Rough.

Weathered hands, bleeding in the cold,

discolored nails.

Hands of a man.

Hands soothing a child’s fevered brow

throwing small bodies in the air

and holding them close, smoothing wayward hair.

Hands that have known violence,

have known fury, known rage.

Hands that know how to love a woman.

The only two in all the world that love me.

As St. Christopher carried Christ once,

the Savior of the world bearing all it’s awful sins

in the hands of a humble traveler,

so you carry us.

Me.

You waited years for love in return,

waited years for me to learn love.

You taught me love with every word, your patience your impatience.

Your hands cupped around my face.

Our first-born, the gift of God.

The baby you walked rocked held fed loved.

Both mother and father while I stood by

vacant, absent.

Now tall, so tall,

five years of growing, falling, learning and laughing

cuddled up against you,

small in your lap. Still a child in your arms.

Our second-born, the vow of God.

Like you in every way.

Her face hands legs feet eyes

the way she doesn’t smile lightly.

She thinks like you, loves like you,

carefully, deeply.

Our son. Our resolute protector.

Still a baby

made of smiles, dimples, squeals.

You hold him in your arms so easily,

all rough strength tempered with such love

tenderness

the way you hold them all.

The way you hold me.

All this to say

I love you.

Today until the end of days.

Uncategorized

Previous Post

February 13, 2011

Sunday Smorgasbord

Next Post

February 16, 2011 Ouch, Yawn

Browse Our Archives

Select a Category Uncategorized

Select a Month September 2016 August 2016 July 2016 June 2016 April 2016 March 2016 January 2016 December 2015 November 2015 October 2015 September 2015 August 2015 July 2015 June 2015 May 2015 April 2015 March 2015 February 2015 January 2015 December 2014 November 2014 October 2014 September 2014 August 2014 July 2014 June 2014 May 2014 April 2014 March 2014 February 2014 January 2014 December 2013 November 2013 October 2013 September 2013 August 2013 July 2013 June 2013 May 2013 April 2013 March 2013 February 2013 January 2013 December 2012 November 2012 October 2012 September 2012 August 2012 July 2012 June 2012 May 2012 April 2012 March 2012 February 2012 January 2012 December 2011 November 2011 October 2011 September 2011 August 2011 July 2011 June 2011 May 2011 April 2011 March 2011 February 2011 January 2011 December 2010 November 2010 October 2010 September 2010 August 2010 July 2010

TAKE THE

Religious Wisdom Quiz