When I look at my brother

with anger in my heart,

when I mentally tear down

my sister with comparison,

when I rush past the lonely,

“sorry, don’t have time,”

let the words of my children

glide past unheeded,

when I judge the choices of my neighbor

but never listen to her story,

when my view of your people is shaped by the noise in my ears

instead of the voice of your truth–

take me again to the Cross.

Let me feel your agony

for them.

Let me watch you bleed

and remind me of your thoughts

that held them in your suffering,

the love that drove you

to give everything.

You did not redeem them

for the pleasure of my scrutiny,

my zealous indignation,

or my distracted indifference.

When you dreamed them into being

you smiled with delight

and you fought to the gates of hell

to win them back.

They are yours.

As imperfect as they are,

they are clothed with your glory,

drenched with your love.

Let me be part of your redemption story.

Show me what could be–

what would be–

if I only listened,

knew myself as one of them,

and followed your lead.

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