The Call to Dirt Floors

Before me lie two open doors
one dirty and one tiled floor
I step close to peer inside
to see behind what each door lies

I tap the first and it swings open
revealing quite the scene
bleeding wounds and broken bones
the injured left unclean.

As I look she meets my gaze
her eyes are filled with pain
She holds him close, her little boy
whose body met a blade

I turn my head
I feel my eyes
are burning hot with tears
when I see him there, just sitting
he’s been immobilized by fear

The wounds of war have left him here
No family to claim
He’s watched his loved ones suffer
No one left who knows his name

He trembles as he reaches out
He knows not what Hope is
He holds my gaze with his tender face
as my hand touches his.

I see the scars,
I feel the pain
My heart has ripped in two
That they would see
true healing hands
there’s nothing I won’t do.

I hear the coughs,
the cries for help
and my tears begin to fall
I see my hands are well-equipped
I want to help them all.

I lift my hands
then lay them down
Watch the Great Physician heal
Be reminded God is faithful
No matter how I feel.

Offer physical solutions
and spiritual as well
to stand and fight the battle
right before the gates of Hell.

To know the God of healing
The God of mended hearts
offering completeness
despite lives that fall apart.

My feet were made for
dry, cracked ground
these hands were made to heal.
This voice was made for shouting
that God is alive and real!

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