Teach Her To See.

I'm sure this is niave.  
The two-year-old mother, 
with hope-filled dreams.

But, Lord help me please, 
to teach her to see.

The garbage man waving 
in the blue-truck seat.  
The teacher bending 
to talk on one knee.  
The waitress refilling 
the coffee cup twice.  
The Bible Study teacher 
smiling so nice.  
The mail lady chatting 
with envelopes in hand, 
the blower-carrying 
lawn-mowing man.  
The story-time reader 
at the library each week, 
the dad who helped 
put shoes on her feet. 

I want her to see 
the background, the effort, 
the work, the toil 
or daily routine.  
That others put forth 
beyond just what is "seen".

So often she sits, 
with yells from her seat,  
for whatever she thinks 
she urgently needs.  
I stop, I pause, 
I bite my teeth, 
to show her, to stop her, 
to teach her to see.  
To ask her, to lend her, 
the eyes that open, 
to look who is ready, 
and then stop and see: 
her mommy still standing, 
still cutting or scooping, 
still pouring in kitchen 
to serve all the needs.   
I ask her to look, 
to wait, to listen, 
and then take those moments t
o teach her to see.

I want her to see, 
the world big or broken.  
The child who cries, 
the laborer who laughs, 
the tasks done around her, 
the people, the hands.  
To see them all working, 
or all having needs, 
and find her place serving 
or getting dirt on her knees.

In this world of so many, 
my heart tries to teach her, 
so many people, 
beyond just her needs.  
Now Lord please enable, 
this mother-heart trying, 
to equip her and show her, 
to teach her to see.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

*written originally as prose, with cadence*

I'm sure this is niave.  The two-year-old mother, with hope-filled dreams.

But, Lord help me please, to teach her to see.

The garbage man waving in the blue-truck seat.  The teacher bending to talk on one knee.  The waitress refilling the coffee cup twice.  The Bible Study teacher smiling so nice.  The mail lady chatting with envelopes in hand, the blower-carrying lawn-mowing man.  The story-time reader at the library each week, the dad who helped put shoes on her feet. 

I want her to see the background, the effort, the work, the toil or daily routine.  That others put forth beyond just what is "seen".

So often she sits, with yells from her seat,  for whatever she thinks she urgently needs.  I stop, I pause, I bite my teeth, to show her, to stop her, to teach her to see.  To ask her, to lend her, the eyes that open, to look who is ready, and then stop and see: her mommy still standing, still cutting or scooping, still pouring in kitchen to serve all the needs.   I ask her to look, to wait, to listen, and then take those moments to teach her to see.

I want her to see, the world big or broken.  The child who cries, the laborer who laughs, the tasks done around her, the people, the hands.  To see them all working, or all having needs, and find her place serving or getting dirt on her knees.

In this world of so many, my heart tries to teach her, so many people, beyond just her needs.  Now Lord please enable, this mother-heart trying, to equip her and show her, to teach her to see.