In These Arms

I’m 27 years old.  A young woman.  Married. No children of my own.
And yet they come to me.
60 year old men.  60-something year old women.
They come.
People on this earth four decades before my birth
And they come
To me?
It’s an odd interaction really –
Without eyes to see.

They come with their burdens, their afflictions, their sorrows.
They come undone.

They come into my open arms.
These arms surprise me.  They’re not my own.
These arms – bearing, embracing, comforting.
Making a space of grace.
Peace.
Rest from the storm.
These arms make.sun

Somehow they’re mine but they’re not mine at all.
They’re a mystery, a miracle, Home.
In these arms
The lost are found
the captives are freed
the forgotten are not forsaken
In these arms
The rejected are remembered
The weak are made strong
The shamed are truly seen.
In these arms
Shadows become bright, darkness becomes light
In these arms
The weary, the condemned, the heavy laden find rest
In these arms.

These arms that are mine
And In these arms I find
Rest.
Peace.
Perfect. Wholeness.
That never ever ends.

The fatherless are welcomed Home.
In these arms.

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