Thoughts, Prayers & Art

You,
with the heart that hears
the quiet sob between the words,
the tremble in the voice before the tears fall
you carry more than most will ever see.

You,
who stands still
when the world moves fast,
noticing the shadow behind the smile,
the story behind the silence
you are a sacred kind of rare.

Empathy
is your native language.
You speak in sighs and solace,
in glances that say, “I see you,”
in hands that hold the grief of others
like sacred vessels of oil and water.

It is no small thing,
to feel as deeply as you do
to break open, again and again,
not from weakness,
but from holy strength.

And yes,
it hurts.
To be a lighthouse in a storm,
to be a soft place in a world armored with fear,
to be awake when others dream of apathy.

But oh,
what beauty you bring.
You are a hymn in a hospital room.
A candle in the hallways of despair.
A breath of God’s own tenderness
where others only see trouble.

So cry when you must.
Rest when you can.
But know this:
The world turns a little more kindly
because you are in it.
And that is everything.