A Blank Slate

A Blank Slate

(“If someone says, ‘I love God,’ and yet he hates his brother or sister, he is a liar; for the one who does not love his brother and sister whom he has seen, cannot love God, whom he has not seen.” 1 John 4:20)

I’d like to believe I am a blank slate.
I’d like to think I’m ready for the writing on the wall.
I’d enjoy the chance to talk in private the ways
I preside over public speech.
I’m ready for the old instructions to be rewritten
on my heart.

You were lying by the side of the road, a
castoff
of better times. Nothing in your pockets and
nowhere to go, you canceled your subscription to
unhelpful words of painted pain.

I’d like to believe I’d give you a chance.
I’d like to believe I’ve read the situation well.
I’d enjoy the chance to enjoy an open door
before I closed it for the afternoon.
I’m ready for the completion of the courses
I signed up for free.

You were worn out, a castaway who once
believed
in basic rhymes. Your mind was crawling with
nowhere to go, so you sat on the side of the road
and waited for--and waited for--the mail to arrive.
Words on paper might transform the vagaries
of time.

I’d like to write on the whiteboard of your heart.
I’d like to think you could read me like an open book.
I’d enjoy the chance to show you something
more than recited dogma, to serve you something
more than leftovers and crumbs.
I’m ready to accompany you through the shadows
others had left behind.