Adena

Sometimes I think God is blind, That he puts his hands over His eyes When He listens and speaks to men. Sometimes I see a God with His hands over His eyes, And yet he still sees the sparrows, Hears their cries, Watches their feathers fall, And strokes them with His gentle hand. He just doesn’t know what color they are. More often I see a God with His hands stretched out, His long, long arms and His wide, wide hands Reaching around the entire Earth. His eyes are so big, so wide, He sees the invisible patterns, So subtle, so beautiful, Hidden on the back of every sparrow, And He smiles. Sometimes I see a God who is weeping Silent tears that join the ancient, salty rivers of sorrow. They join the oceans of blood, sweat, and tears, Spilt because of anger, of hate Because His children are blind. He painted them so many beautiful colors, But His children call some ugly, some inferior, some bad He wonders why they hate Him so. One day I hope to see a God who smiles, As his children, blind to hatred, Seeing the beauty of difference, Stand, and grab each other’s hands, And see the obvious, subtle, wonderful beauty, That He put in each of them. And He will see it, and He will beam.