“Blessed are those who mourn”

Flash floods of tears, torrents of them,

Erode cruel canyons, exposing

Long forgotten strata of life

Laid down in the peaceful decades:

A badlands beauty. The same sun

That decorates each day with colors

From arroyos and mesas, also shows

Every old scar and cut of lament.

Weeping washes the wounds clean

And leaves them to heal, which always

Takes an age or two. No pain

Is ugly in past tense. Under

The Mercy every hurt is a fossil

Link in the great chain of becoming.

Pick and shovel prayers often

Turn them up in valleys of death.

…from “Holy Luck” …from the book, “Subversive Spirituality” …by Eugene Peterson

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…also from “The Message”: Matthew 5:

You are blessed when you feel you’ve lost what is most dear to you. Only then can you be embraced by the One most dear to you.