I will not tell you who you are any more.
You may tell me, and I will believe you.
I will not think I know.
I will not think I’ve been told,
or given a glimpse of the future.
I will expect nothing, carry nothing.
Whatever I receive in my encounter with you,
it will be a surprise,
it will be unanticipated,
it will be sheer gift.
God’s mercies will be new every morning,
and when I meet you,
it will be on fresh ground,
and maybe I will tell you my name,
and maybe you will tell me yours.
Latest posts by Lindy Thompson (see all)
- Kindness Begins with Crayons: A Response to the Serena Williams Cartoon - September 18, 2018
- The Wailing One - February 24, 2018
- God Not Male - January 12, 2018