by Jenise Cook

You protected me.
Walking through community space,
You called me to meditate.
You called me to intercede.

Out of the blue she was there,
The one interceded for.
Empty eyes met mine.
Grief and pain poured from her without torrent.
Weary and tired, anger held no court.

“I thought you were our friend.”
I didn’t understand,
Her ramblings made no sense.
“You turned your head, you looked away.
I don’t want nothing to do with you.”

Confusion and rejection.
And yet, You called me to intercede.
You filled me with your peace.
Cutting, biting words,
misunderstanding held no sway.
Held no power.

Grief transforms a heart
To see only the pain, the loss,
The emptiness, the loneliness.

“He passed away.”
I didn’t know.
Her words trailed away as she did
And Your presence calmed my soul.

How differently life is viewed
From two different pairs of eyes.
One filled with joy and peace
The other filled with grief and pain.

Misunderstandings.
Faulty communication.
And with one sentence
Friendship is cast aside
Like a torn, fast-food paper bag
Left to wander with the wind.

Yet Your presence filled me:
“Keep interceding.”
“It’s not about you.”
And so I let Your peace
Direct my soul to intercede
For her —and all— whose broken hearts
Lash out in pain to ease their loss.

You protected me.
Walking through community space,
You called me to meditate.
You called me to intercede.

You called me to love
In the midst of hate.

Amen.

Jenise Cook lives with her husband in the north-central highlands of Arizona where it snows. Jenise enjoys visitors to @jenisecook on Twitter, and at JeniseCook.com where you can find a list of her published works.