With empty hands
and an empty heart
I lay myself at your feet,
an exhausted, empty heap.

Empty of words.
Empty of plans.
Empty of Amazing
or Courage or
Daring Doing.

And instead of
“You should”s
And instead of
“Why aren’t you”s
You place your hand
gently on my head
and whisper
Deep into my heart:

“Blessed.”

Blessed in my sacred empty,
I rest.

©  J.L. Sanborn

This poem arrived on an empty kind of morning a few weeks ago.  Sitting with my emptiness, I was reminded of Matthew 5:3, “Blessed are the poor in spirit. . .”  For some beautiful translations of this verse, check out this post from At River’s Edge: http://atriversedge.wordpress.com/2014/08/10/blessed-are-the-poor-in-spirit/

 

 

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