At Arm’s Length

Every week You are there to lead the choir. Play piano… Faithfully serve the church in various ways. Someone I admired. Now once or twice a year I hear from you In an e-card greeting. I’ve come to your home to see your face, to hear your voice with an open heart and a searching hope. I no longer attend services. Peace on earth goodwill towards men are only empty words if not lived. I could be hurt, Discouraged, Beset By indifference and neglect, Instead I feel pity. Though I tried to avert, Tried to circumvent, “On earth as it is in Heaven” are words, are truth And I miss you so. Strange it seems to feel this way and ache for you as friend and brethren, someone I thought I knew But in truth did not know. Your greeting could not bridge the distance between us. A neighbor nearby physically but Cold, cyber, hands, reach out electronically, hollow and empty. And only serve to bring tears to my eyes. For all outward appearances You seem well “adjusted”, though oblivious To the knock upon your door.   I will visit with you no more. when sensitivity clashes with the desensitized it can only result in unnecessary pain and sorrow whom do you serve, if you don’t even know, Who you follow?

Sacrificing in works to earn,
what may only be achieved by grace 
through simple obedience
tsk, tsk, tsk,
Merry Christmas,
any who.
Catholics…? (sigh)


“if people destroy something made by man they are called vandals. if they destroy something made by GOD they are called developers” God Bless


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