If I Were a Stone

A poem about God’s faithfulness

If I were a stone,
Then You would be the Coal Miner
who bled and perspired as
You diligently hacked at the stubborn rock,
desperately searching for me.

You would be the Jeweler
who saw past the thick layer of dark coal
that enveloped my soul;
who recognized my value;
who cleaned me up and polished me,
and revealed to me my true worth;
of which I would otherwise never have known.

And You would be the Groom
who bought me at a price I could never understand,
let alone afford,
And used me to beautify and edify Your bride,
by placing me on her finger.

If I were a suicidal,
psychiatric patient,
standing 20 stories above ground,
on top of a building
overlooking a now miniature city;
You would be that strong mysterious wind
that pushes me back, away from the edge;
reminding me of my fragility.

You would be the good conscience in my head,
reminding me of my close friends and family,
and of all the people I would hurt
should i choose to give in, to give up.

You would be the negotiator on the megaphone,
20 stories below; reassuring me in a loud
yet comforting voice;
that there are people who are willing to help;
that my life is worth living.

You would be that beautiful dark haired girl
With the look of concern sculpting her face;
staring at me intently through a window
from an adjacent building;
reminding me that there still are things in this world
That are worth living for.

And if I did decide to jump,
You would be the firefighters at the ground floor,
positioning the life cushion underneath me;
anticipating where I will land.

And You would be my mother,
who, at the moment I landed safely,
and with tears flooding her eyes;
runs to me as fast as she can;
pushing aside all the onlookers;
never condemning me for my actions,
nor ever asked questions,
but immediately embracing me
and holding me as if I were the only person in the world
who mattered.

If I were a homeless alcoholic in a wheelchair
smelling like beer, body odor, and urine,
and sitting alongside a busy street with a small paper cup;
hoping that somehow, there are more kind people
out and about today, than there were yesterday;
Then You would be those who don’t smirk or comment
as they walk by.
You would be those few who slow down and smile;
reminding me I’m still human.
You are the kind manager who permits me
to stay in front of his restaurant
despite the potential business loss.
And best of all,
You are the sweet child who gently places
a crumpled up dollar bill into my cup
while kindly saying with such faith;
those words that I’ve always had trouble believing
but are still meaningful enough to bring an old,
hardened failure as myself to tears:
“Jesus Loves You”


© 2014 Jeremiah Castelo

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