A broken tulip

Cross safely, young man.

Your ironed gray pants fall to perfectly polished brown shoes.

Above is a lavender purple button-up shirt slightly rolled back from the wrists (in a token nod to the humidity).

You stand, with thin frame and thinner face, uncertain before four-laned traffic.

 

Quick, your head flicks left, right

your arms held out as if in meditation

weighted on each side by Starbucks coffee and cakes

boxed in cardboard green-stamped with a goddess,

the guiding image of any business meeting.

Is that where you are headed, seeking gaps in the blur of cars?

 

Cross safely, young man.

I do not know, you do not know, what capacity for evil your thin frame holds, what potential for good.

I only know you hold them both, they weigh you down more than you know, young man,

as irresistible a force as gravity they pull you deep into the redemption, into the brokenness of this colourful cosmos, of which you are one piece,

with your soft lavender shirt and combed brown hair and unique soul so necessary for the redemption, yet exacerbates the brokenness,

and God, God is present, holding all the pieces of this world together, God is here now.

Cross safely.

 

As he moves swiftly across the now-empty street, his silver watch winks back at me.

“Each [human being], being free, is unrepeatable; and each, being unrepeatable, is infinitely precious.” Bishop Kallistos Ware

We’ll continue with the Theology of Craft posts on Monday. Today, I wanted to share a moment from this week with you.