Caring for a wounded heart is indeed a sober job.
Setting the broken bones.
Wiping the bloodied nose.
Placing band aids on the scrapes.
Responsibilities you can’t escape.
Lifting up the fallen when they’ve stumbled on their way.
Lending them the flashlight
To light the darkened path.
Choosing not to interfere
When you know they still won’t hear.
Thank you to my friends who call me to account.
Love me enough not to spare
My pride and feelings if you dare.
Fear not to call it what it is.
Point out the things I’m sure to miss.
originally written on Wednesday, August 3, 2011 at 2:32pm