I, love
I, love from here.
From my heart, which burns, and beats
and smiles and cries.
Which starts and smarts,
with each move and turn of
the subjects
of my love.
I am mother, I am wife.
I am friend, and lover of God.
But my heart,
is inside out.
Love does that.
It makes us walk,
while standing still,
the paths of the ones we love.
Love asks this of us,
or its not true.
And I sit now with the women,
who loved Jesus, more than life.
I, who know something
of love.
Know something of how
they may have felt.
To not be able do anything, at all.
But sit still.
And bear witness,
to another’s walk.
This is love.
This is how we know, that we do.
Love.
We will lie, we will stand, we will sit and cry.
Smile and listen,
and try and carry it all.
We will think of you
when we are not with you.
We will pray for you
and beseech heaven for you,
and try and push away
the stones.
But most of all
we will bear witness.
And walk with you.
So the cross you carry
is never on your own.

Ana Lisa de Jong
Living Tree Poetry

Easter Saturday
April 2017

"Near the cross of Jesus stood his mother, his mother's sister, Mary the wife of Clopas, and Mary Magdalene.” (John 19:25)