Balance

His shaved head was Frankensteined by staples,

And his body was a crumpled leaf covered

In rumpled white blankets,

Those hospital ones that are crisp and functional

But far from homey.

I could not find the bottom of his sadness,

Or bring together the ends of his frustrations.

We talked about Jesus, and about his faith—

How somehow Jesus stitched

Himself throughout this man’s illness.

The only thing he clung to.

And then—

“I don’t understand why I’m still alive.”

“I have so many questions for God.”

My hand covered his,

“I do too.”

He smiled, comforted.

We prayed together

In praise of all the things we believed Jesus to be,

And confessing those we do not understand.

Human communion mingled with the supernatural—

With the Glorious mysterious God,

Who seemed far and felt close.

“Thank you, I needed you to come by today,

To remind me.”

I left the the room and immediately wept.

The loss I felt outweighed by hope.