A Poem
By Emma Harvey
There is a piece within that cannot be taken.
A gift, hidden that every man can claim.
Many seek this gift now. They seek to extirpate, to douse.
And yet, it will remain…
Within Katie, the inconvenient infant in a dumpster, alone and weak and the latch-key child with a bruise-stained cheek;
Within the veteran who drinks to drown the dreams and the prisoner, the Valjean, with a hardened heart of stone;
Within the young woman at her chemo whose wondering “why me?” and the elderly woman downed by strangers’ ridicules and rough hands daily;
Within the poor, broken of spirit and of compassion. Yet all of these, the angry and the tired and alone, the gift will not disown.
It is the gift of creation and life. The caress of goodness, purity, and holiness. Even in strife.
Each of the least of these were spun by the weaver of aching laughter and peach-stained sunsets.
Molded by the hands which shaped the crackling of ice cubes and the explosive taste of fresh foods.
Kissed by the lips which commanded the stars into existence.
Undeterred…
It cries: you were crafted (for more than this) and not forsaken.
Even within the sinner there is a gift to claim.
There is a peace within that cannot be taken.
The Judson Mosaic 