1 Cor 13 Embraces the woman whose child screams on the floor of the cereal aisle. Enters the friend’s new mansion, lifts eyes to the skylights, gives thanks. Yields the last word on the Facebook fight. Looks the frowning barista in the eye. Takes a breath and thanks God there is even a zipper to get stuck. Sends a gift to the wall-punching uncle. Glances away from the handcuffed boys on the side of the road and prays. Smiles and listens to the grandmother complain about her knees, rubs the knees, ladles another bowl of soup. Believes there is a reason that slumped man in the alley was born. Trusts he’ll believe it. Endures the quiet, thankless song of work. Echoes long after the cymbals have died.
This poem is from Second Sky by Tania Runyan (Cascade/Wipf & Stock, 2013), a collection that “intertwines the life and writings of the Apostle Paul with the spiritual journey of a modern suburban woman confronting the broken world.” Used with permission.