Poem for Reformation Day John 8:31-36

The little child cried

Looking at the father

And the spilt milk

--one

----more

------time

cried for fear that she had again offended

simply by being

--the

----little

------child

and the fathers arms went around her

and held her

and loved her

loving not the spilt milk

but cleaning the mess

and drying the tears

in love

you are my child because of who you are

and who I am

and in trying not to spill the milk

you live out what my child is

and does

soar my child

soar with the freedom

that comes with knowing who you are

soar with the freedom

to spill milk

and know who you are

soar to the freedom of love

that together

we may soar