She is lying there… but it's not so much lying as her body hasn't been still since the tears started. Wreathing is more accurate. Naked and kicking and screaming and cutting her perfectly browned body on the rocks and glass and every other piece of trash that has been left on the ground.
And the others are walking away.
Leaving her to cry it out, or figure it out.
But I can't.
I can't because I see myself in her.
I see a little bit of all of us.
I pick her up, and hold her tight. What would mom do… my mind races. I just keep holding. She just keeps crying. And I start walking, with no destination in mind other than peace. The animals and motorcycles and yelling and radios tell me there isn't much in supply here.
We continue walking.
She moves a little less now.
Trusting a little more.
I sing the only song I can think of.
Our song mom.
And she rests her head into me, and shuts her eyes. The water stains remain on her beautiful face, the only inches of her body void of dirt. Locals watch as we make our way up the garbage filled street. Avoiding the filth when possible, singing all the while. I make it all the way to the end of the dirt path, and with a sharp pain in my chest I turn to walk back.
I think of all the times I've been held.
How real the hurt was.
Two years ago and five days ago.
The times I fought against being held.
How relentlessly He pursed me.
I wonder what her name is. She yawns and peaks one eye up at me, "I'm still here" … she snuggles even closer, if that's possible. I pray for God to speak. To reveal where He is in all of this. Because, to me… it sure doesn't look like He's been here for a while.
That's when I find it…the peace.
He knows her name.
He Has called her beloved.
And as I hold her.
He holds me a little closer.
