I was given a poem at a retreat with my fellow chaplains, and we were told to write a reflection or free write about our ministry and our lives. The words carry the stories spoke to me and by virtue of that I felt in that time the burdens of life at home with my hurt and others hurt and work with so many others hurts.
Carry the stories.
Carry.
Carry them.
Carry them anywhere and everywhere.
but nowhere.
Carry what?
Carry burdens?
Carry story?
Carry hearts?
Carry loads?
Carry others but what about my own…
Carry the stories.
Carry light that can’t be touched.
Carry darkness that has no light.
Carry stories of light and dark.
Carry my own light and dark.
Carry.
Carry.
Carry their stories, carry my stories.
Carry our heartache, carry their heartache.
Carry painful endings, sorrowful starts, grief stricken journeys.
Carry patients.
Carry families.
Carry staff.
Carry colleagues.
Carry their stories of pain.
Carry my stories of pain.
Carry my stories of failure.
Carry my stories of not enough.
Carry.
Carry too much, carry not enough.
Carry a child’s story, carry my child’s story.
Carry their stories as well.
Carry, carry, carry.
Someone carry me.
Carry celebration, carry great.
Carry joy, carry pain.
Carry children’s smiles.
Carry, their last breath.
Carry my sons breath, my sons light.
Carry the stories.
stories of others?
stories of mine?
Carry their anger, carry my anger.
Carry children who dance, carry children who sing.
Carry stories of children who don’t.
Carry burdens.
Carry stories.
Carry the stories.
Carry their stories.
Carry.
God, carry me.