Today Lauren told me how she could not go on since she lost her husband 1 year ago. Life has been hard but now it seemed unbearable. 

A hot meal, a pat on the back, and the usual " I'll pray for you" just would,nt be the right formula for this woman. In fact, there is no formula. Grief is a living death! It scorches the heart, bleeds the body, and isolates the mind...
...Once, there was a very old man who lost his wife, he refused to talk to anyone. Friends, neighbors, and family were shut out from the shriveling soul. One day a neighbor saw a little boy coming out of the old mans house and asked, " How did you get the old man to let you in?" The little boy answered " I cried with Him!"

Across the room I recognize a young man standing alone up against the wall. He stands, and he watches, but he does not move. There is neither smile nor frown upon his face, he is simply there.
 " You are Fr. Dan" I said. ""We have met before". 
"Yes, I remember" he said.

"How are you?",
 there was a moments hesitation. 
"I am taking some time off."

 He looked at me  without saying a word but you could read all the words spoken from the reflection seen within his eyes.

There are men who give their lives so others may not die, but sometimes  the reaper is too much for them. We belong to a family but if we their children do not let them rest, if we do not nourish and give back to replenish their strength their vows cannot sustain them. 
When I look into His eyes I see a reflection of myself,
 giving yet broken, 
healing yet wounded. 
Again, what can I say?. 

So I embrace Him hoping that the pain 
I carry for him can be enough, 
but it is never enough!
 Only when my pain, my blood mingles with the Savior 
can my wounds speak to his broken heart. 
He walks away, but I never 
 know if he is healed.
A man is reading a magazine, it requires a post graduate degree. He speaks of things beyond the minds of the upper middle class and yet he finds himself homeless, looking for answers no book can ever give. 

Why do these things continue to happen is the question he asks? 
It's been 40 years!

The dark and empty night cannot answer. 
He calls out for the maker to touch him, 
to put him to sleep in a warm and secure bed,
 but the journey never seems to end, 
there are only small glimmers of light along the way, 
but mostly darkness.

"I am a human being!" cry's his spirit,
but what does one have to do to make them see?
The yellows of yesterday only seem gray today and the poor as the carpenter has told us will always be with us.
So what is the point you might ask?,
 week after week , year after year, 
They continue to want, 
They are given clothes yet remain naked!
" We want more fish, we want more loaves" is their cry but they do not learn how to use the net

Perhaps all I really have, is my own brokenness to offer.
 Perhaps I suffer so that I can show them the 
nail prints in my own hands. 
Perhaps I am no more than one of them in disguise 
just trying to find my way home.

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