Silent Healers
I held hands in the depths of anguish,
as Christ once touched the broken,
sitting beside them,
offering comfort through their sorrows.
I held hearts heavy with grief,
lifting them upon my shoulders,
as the Shephard carries His sheep
when their strength is gone.
I walk with them through the midnight of despair,
praying heaven's light would break through;
a ray of mercy guiding them safely home.
Healers are givers;
shadows of the Great Physician,
Unseen,
Unclaimed in the gaps,
unembraced in the storms,
unheard in the cries.
Yet always present,
Always warm,
ever bearing joy where darkness lingers.
We hold stories unspoken,
fears that cloud our sight,
truths that shakes us to the core.
We too are broken,
yet still we mend;
we too are weary,
yet still, we rise.
For grace keeps us steady,
love makes us strong,
and hope whispers:
what we pour out into others,
one day shall return to us;
full, and overflowing.
Copyright © Beryl A. Ouma | Year Posted 2025
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