If I was Cold

If I was Cold

(“…that is, that we may be mutually comforted by one another’s faith, both yours and mine.” Romans 1:12)

If I was cold, would you give  me your blanket;
If I was alone, would you send me a card?
If I was homeless, would you give me a bed;
Or just offer a comb to brush my balding head?

If I was far, would you pay for my airfare;
If my sister died, would you send me roses?
If I was destitute, would you raise the funds;
Or put your phone on mute while worship music hums?

Pouring, a pitcher of sweet sangria,
weren’t your throats assuaged;
Painting, a portrait of peaceful solace,
weren’t your tears wiped away?
Sitting, a hospice of slow departure,
weren’t your breaths sanctified;
Praying, a moment of candle and incense,
weren’t your pleas respected?

Now I am thirsty where the rivers do not run,
I am weeping in the rain, for the sun.
I am dying, though not like everyone,
I am praying for an invitation that more
than mouths a prayer, but raises a hand,
a letter, a paragraph, a long note that sounds
across the continent; that calls us home.

I am isolated, would you help me come home;
I am grieving, would you cover me with your wings?
I am boxed in, would you offer me a great river to swim;
I am confused; where are the friends, the fellows,
the brothers and sisters,

Who all know where I am.