This is a poem about how I’ve felt at ministry. Ministry has been hard. It’s been really good, but hard. During the week, we go to Care Points and spend time with kids all day. A lot of the kids are neglected (at least emotionally, if not physically). It’s not usually due to withdrawn parents, so much as their absence altogether. Most of their parents work all day. The kids go to school on their own and tuck themselves in at night. It’s really, really sad the way kids have been hurt at foundational levels. There’s one kid in particular that I’ve had a difficult time with. I don’t know the psychology behind it, but he acts in the way of someone that’s been extremely neglected. He growls and bites. He screeches when he’s picked up, but screeches more so if he’s set down or ignored. And it’s really difficult. I’m seeing these things happen in his formative years and know that the damage is going to be carried with him through life. And at the same time, through the heartbreak it’s really difficult to love him. It’s difficult to hold him, because he’s dirty. Picking him up means hands rubbing dirt down my arms or getting food wedged in my fingers. He has rashes that I’d rather not have pressed against my skin, but that’s inevitably what happens when I lift him up. Though unintentional, it feels intrusive and I know I’m ill-equipped to heal him. But I’m in a place to love him regardless of whether pouring that energy and emotion out will bear any fruit or not. And a lot of times loving the least isn’t pleasant, it doesn’t bear fruit, and it goes against all inclination. But it doesn’t change the truth of Matthew 25: ““The King will reply, ‘Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.’”
So this is about ministry and how sometimes it’s hard to love the least.
Inclination
I can see his fingers
Crawl up my knees
Food crumbs linger
As his hands leave
The contents of his long nails
On my skin
I can feel my skin
As soggy crumbs
Slowly begin
To stick and become
Engrained
In my leg hair
My hair is pulled
And it’s prodded
By a boy I’m told
Has fought with
The thought
“Am I loved?”
Now he’s here
he’s in my lap
He grabs my hands
And begins to clap
Them together
As he sings
And I want to leave
But he’s the least of these
It doesn’t come with ease
But I know
For love to be complete
It must be done in absence
Or in the teeth
Of inclination
And I’m not inclined.
His eyes are empty
And he growls and bites
His dirty arms
Are coated in grime
And it rubs off on mine
I’m not inclined.
He screams
If I pick him up
But there’s a screech
If I begin to put
Him down
Ignore him and he’ll growl
I’m not inclined.
And even the love
That I do show to him
I don’t know if it gets through
Or if it even begins
To heal those wounds
So deeply engraved
I can’t speak
The same language
Nor can I seek
To appease the anguish
That’s been affirmed
Every time he’s been hurt
He’s a clay
And his molder
Has been the cruelest
Of sculptors
And I can’t undo
The damage done
But do I have to?
I’m here for two months
And then I go home
But after these months
His life will go on
Unchanged
With the same pain
And it pains me
That it’s his reality
It’s all he’s known
All he’ll ever know
He’ll have children of his own
And the cycle will go on
But I’m here for a time
A time wasted?
No, not wasted.
But wasted on you?
No, not wasted.
But it bears no fruit?
No, not wasted.
Fruitless
But not wasted
The truth is
That my place is
Not to heal your wounds
But to love you
I’m sorry
That I can’t fix you
And it’s hard
When I can’t give you
What you need
But I’ll give what I have
And I have two months.
Two months
to pick you up
But two months
To have muck
On my skin
Stuck to my shins
Two months
To hold you to my chest
But two months
To smell your breath
When you lean in
Closer than I’d like
Two months
To hear you laugh
But two months
For your teeth to latch
Onto my hands
As you bite them
Two months
To love you
And I know the price
Of loving you
It’s a pretty dime
But I’ll pay what’s due
Because I’m inclined.
And in the Lord’s eyes
You’re already reclined
At His table
He’s counted the cost
And He is able
And willing to love this child
Yes, He is inclined.
