Dependent

I had no idea that a newborn baby was so purple, or that so much time would pass before it started to breath on its own. I wrote this poem after witnessing my grandson’s birth. Put your name in these lines. After all, we all began our life this way. How does it make you feel?

The Breath of God

Breathe little purple stem.
Breathe.
Your life lies before you.

Anxious thoughts we send control not your air.
Other hands manipulate, expectorate, irrigate.
Yet comes forth nothing.

Daddy whispers. Mama concentrates. Amma prays.
Time stands still.

But when the breathe of God enters little purple stem,
Dear purple stem becomes blossom.
Blossom becomes Quinn Stephen Ronald.

And once again life begins,
Entirely dependent on the breath of God.

This poem originally appeared in the book ‘Grandmothers’ Necklace’, a fundraiser for African grandmothers who struggle to raise grandchildren alone because of the Aids epidemic.

James 1:27-Religion that God our Father accepts as pure and faultless is this: to look after orphans and widows in their distress and to keep oneself from being polluted by the world (NIV).

Prayer: Father God, thank you for giving us life. Give us the sense to use that life to help others. For the sake of the Christ. Amen.

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