The child comes into the world helpless,
in need of constant love and care,
it reaches out,
it’s need apparent as it whimpers for the touch,
the mother’s smile,
totally dependent,
the weakest of the weak,
defenseless before those who do not love.
To be held,
caressed and treasured,
to feed from the mother’s breast,
swollen with milk,
it’s urgent need.
For some,
just one is too many;
love never experienced,
perhaps only neglect,
for some abuse meted out,
growing up in pain,
with rages seed planted,
for that is what some monsters are made of.
Pitied as children,
then criminals as adults,
hated and feared,
locked up,
some die young taking many with them,
such a world we live in
who knows the answer,
or if there is one.
Perhaps there a way out,
to simply love the child;
yet those who abuse,
where mistreated and tortured as children themselves,
so each generation passes on the pain,
the fruit of being sinned against,
chains hard to unbind,
yet there is always hope for the cycle to be broken,
to freely love.
Absurd in its simplicity,
perhaps hard to live out,
yet to begin with one will one day become two,
and then more,
healing spreading out like ripples in a pond,
in ever growing circles.
Yes,
last,
but not least,
there is grace;
unfelt and unseen,
infinite love seeking it’s children,
who will be found.
Br. Mark Dohle, OCSO
Holy Spirit Monastery
