Living Tree Poetry

Which of us would not want to say,
as the woman at the well,

‘I met a man who told me of everything I had done.’

There are those who see us
from inside out,
straight past the skin,

who trace patterns on our undersides,
that we need not wear pretence
as a shield,

can pour ourselves,
as water gains momentum
and runs clear.

I met a man who told me
at once who I was,
loved child of God.

That like a river
that breaks its dam,
I might begin to flow.

There are those who see
who we are,
and love us still.

That we might ask,
‘was that the Christ
in shepherd’s clothes?’

Yes,
compassion is the gift that
makes us most like God,

that those held
in its gaze
might claim healing long arriving.

Which of us wouldn’t want to say,
‘I met a man
with whom I could stand bare,

that on my skin
he might recall to me,
my name.’

Ana Lisa de Jong
Living Tree Poetry
October 2019

^‘Then, leaving her water jar, the woman went back to the town and said to the people, “Come, see a man who told me everything I ever did. Could this be the Messiah?”
John 4:28-29