Some see my skin and ask for money,
but it so rarely contributes to a solution.
Some know me as pastor and seek my wisdom,
but it’s so bound by culture that it often confounds.
Some hear me pray and ask for healing,
but I am the one in need of faith.
Some know me as mother and want my attention,
but too often I respond with excuses.
Some begin with, “Madame…”,
but the title alone makes it difficult for me to respond.
Some are so far away and want to connect,
but the infrastructure and my weariness prevent it.
And the man in my life rarely interrupts,
because he doesn’t want to be another voice in the crowd.
The expectations are great, the inadequacy greater.
The invitations are multitude, but my responses problematic.
But One calls me child and never stops calling…
that I can keep giving.
that I can have hope.
that my faith will be restored.
that I will be forgiven.
that I can only be humble.
that we all are enfolded.
The expectations are my own and God’s love is enough.
The invitations are blessings and the only response is prayer.