I'd grow wings
that transform into healing hands
I'd circle the globe, landing softly
touch the forehead of a sick child
brush a tumor away to give life
shoo away radiation that kills
erase hate like a spelling mishap
toss the letters like an alley dice game
scrambled into heat for those left out in the cold
Feathers that tickle giggles from the elderly
and stir up wisdom in the young
Wings that stretch to scoop in the lonely
until they find each other and belong
Wingtips that curve perfectly under chins
lifting heads to see my flight pattern in the sky
two white words scribbled in the blue "You're awesome."
Then I'd make my wings contagious
hand them out like loaves and fish
so we could all flock together
to the cross and empty tomb
and make our own firework party in the sky
others below would look up with smiles that ache
we'd swoop down to hand them their wings
watch their bruises and scars dance
from their bodies and hearts
up to their wings to make bold patterns
that tell a flickering story
as we flit about
no more fits
just flits
of You.
“I don't want to live in the kind of world where we don't look out for each other. Not just the people that are close to us, but anybody who needs a helping hand. I cant change the way anybody else thinks, or what they choose to do, but I can do my bit.”
― Charles de Lint
But you are the ones chosen by God, chosen for the high calling of priestly work, chosen to be a holy people, God’s instruments to do his work and speak out for him, to tell others of the night-and-day difference he made for you—from nothing to something, from rejected to accepted.
1 Peter 2:9-10
