No Mere Acquaintances

No Mere Acquaintances

(“[The angel addressed] me: ‘Cornelius, your prayer has been heard, and your kindness to the poor has been noticed by God.’” Acts 10:31)

There are times I wish no one would notice me at all;
when I trip on the pavement, when the pieces do not fit,
when my face turns red in ordinary conversation,
when I’m practicing my scales, when tears leave behind
scaly dust in my eyes.

We notice the stranger, the things that make the adolescent shorter,
the teenager slower, the pimples, the black skin, the foreign accent,
the headdress, the thrift store clothes,
and the misbehavior that shows in the kids we did not raise.

There are times I wish I noticed every red leaf in November,
every ice crystal sharpening the air in December,
every barking dog that wants to play,
every school child who had to stay after class because mom
and dad
forgot to send her bus pass.

There are things I wish you noticed; like the mom who hides her bruises,
the preacher who labors in the night to work a second job in the day to
serve the tiny church enclosed by wheat fields or forest,
the mother who weeps twice a week, she had such dreams and is
a taxi driver for her kids,
the immigrant who risked his life (have you asked about his wounds)
for children, a wife, and a chance to dream; to dream the way you dream.

And when God notices your kindness, he does not forget;
he records your love like a Beach Boys song and plays it over
and over to hear the sweet harmonies.
And when God notices your patience, he does not forget;
he paints your hope like a still life and gazes at it from before dawn
until after dusk to see how the light plays on it.

And sometimes angels notice what God notices and wonder;
writing sonnets about strangers who were no mere acquaintances of
the divine.