Momentous Photographs

She still and always will out source my travels, remains in my retina - a tender photograph. She-cloud, fuzzy and dark. I perceived her on her godforsaken corner - was she on drugs? Was she a nightwalker, runaway, bruised and abused by stranger things? Did she call out to God as I walked by; because I heard her. I prayed for her diurnally yet I never met her. She’s the lady of New England. She is void of clam chowder and blueberry pie. There is no laughter only dried tears in her eyes. I have to believe my prayers matter. They are just a splatter in the scheme of things. Likewise the tears of a sister (in the Lord) kidnapped, sold into marriage by soulless demonic forces. Baby irises taunted, on display as a child bride to the devil. Where is she now? That was many years ago. God’s eye weaved into a colorful pattern between children’s fingers, so hopeful, filled with vigor, imagination and love; and hate from those desperate to bruise. It would be better for him to have a millstone hung around his neck and to be thrown into the sea than to cause one of these little ones to stumble* So I walk with joy and a heavy heart, nothing I could do. But perhaps prayer is bigger than Boston, Maine, Afghanistan, my outstretched heart. Now and forever, God embraces his little ones in the curve of his pierced palms. With the movement of our outstretched feet, our mouths murmur something momentous. 8/29/2021 *Luke 17:2