Moonlight delicately tracing its fragile finger across my skin. A coolness in the air I haven’t felt since the last time the leaves fell from the prominences of the trees. The constellations dance above me singing praises to the heavens. A new season of life floods into my lungs.
Oh Father, take my heavy heart. Take my overwhelmed, twisted, confused heart. Come rushing in like radiant light racing down the mountains at sunrise. I have so many times unconsciously asked for Your eyes and Your heart. You so kindly gave them to me.
Shattered. Heartbroken. Confused. I asked for Your eyes Father, but not the heaviness that comes with it. I see different hues of pigmentation You so perfectly designed each and every one of Your children with. I didn’t see it before I had Your eyes. I didn’t see the hurt in the woman’s eyes when she told me how painful it was to hear words degrade her culture, her skin color, her beauty that was unlike mine. I didn’t see the pain seeping through the woman’s veins when she told me she was afraid for her life because of her golden tented skin. I didn’t see the dad working so hard for his kids but was told by society he never could be a good father because of the amount of pigment in his skin. I didn’t see the heart of a precious soul shattered when a ignorant human being told her to go back to where she came from. I didn’t see the light leave my precious friend’s face when a group of vicious males walked passed us both but only said derogatory terms at her because she didn’t match our skin color. I didn’t see the the resentment in his heart when asked what is was like living in a world where you’re constantly discriminated because of what you look like. I didn’t see her vibrant personality crumble when the glares and pointed noses sent a clear signal. I didn’t see discrimination until I had Your eyes Father. I didn’t hear a remark about the stereotypes we label cultures we aren’t familiar with and my heart feel as if it was being ripped from my chest. I didn’t know Father. I didn’t know how it must shatter Your heart because one creation You made is defiling the other over something You gave them.
I never knew my heart would ache for equality until I prayed for Your heart, Father. I never knew the question of “Why would you kiss a baby from a third world county like that? You could contract some disease,” would leave me broken and weeping on the floor. Weeping that You’d open their eyes Father. That they’d see that You so tediously have crafted each and everyone of us different yet so indescribably fascinating. I never knew the comment of “Why would you want to live in a place like that?” could butcher my heart so violently. That place is my heart’s home, that place is where You’ve called me. I never knew the comment “No child of a different race could really be your child,” would have me asking You how people could be so cruel, Father. I never knew that having Your eyes and Your heart would alter my view of Your creation. The same breath You breathed into our lungs we in return spew hatred instead of sing praises to you.
One day Father, when we worship You for all eternity blind eyes and hardened hearts will no longer exist, but until then I will pray you soften their hearts and open their eyes. I pray for equilibrium among Your creation, among Your children. I will be Your advocate Father. Comfort my shattered heart and aching eyes. Help me to be more like You, to love others even when I will never understand the roots of evil that sprout ignorant slander among your precious children. Help me to love Father. Help me to be more like You.
