my eyes held all knowing in their sockets.
If a thing too overwhelming came to be,
I could simply close my tiny eyes
and un-see the unmanageable.
More than once
I lost control of my bicycle on a certain steep, steep hill.
So squeezing shut my eyes,
that hill would come to not exist for one
tiny
instant.
More than once
I was alone
in the Buick's big backseat,
and we were again pulling into that terrifying car wash.
Unfamiliar sounds and movements invaded my senses.
Pulling back my mother's hand,
back to where I sat,
It was my shield from the strange.
Placed and held firmly
from temple to temple,
arching up over my nose.
Familiar skin on mother hands hid me from my nightmare.
And now,
though with longer limbs,
I still struggle between denial and truth
in the daily opening and closing of these eyes.
When what I fear the most enters my vision,
with head ducked under covers,
it becomes the monster that I will always dread.
But
When what I fear the most enters my vision,
and with willing eyes I take it in,
in all of its terrifying possibilities,
it releases from all of my grasping intentions,
and transforms into an offering to the God of the Poor in Spirit.
I am now open to receive His heart.
And certainly, He does not fail to hear the voices of his hurting children.
Do you trust Me? What have you to fear?
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