By Karen Swank
when You call me home
let me be found
neither hiding in a quiet place
plumping the pillow on which i sit
nor standing in a spotlight
before adoring masses
not collecting accolades
with false humility
but rather let me be found
kneeling at the edge of the pit
arms covered with quicksand
pulling one weeping child to safety
on the border of the bramble
thorns in my skin, but laughter on my lips
celebrating with one freshly free
hip deep in the angry waves
soaked through with saltwater
holding afloat one weary, yet revived from the brink
when You call me home
let me be found
not in the playpen
but on the battle line
even so
come Lord Jesus
Karen is from Aledo, IL. She went to Monmouth College and studied Latin and English. She is a biological mom of two children and surrogate mom/friend/advocate for a whole host of children. She would like to meet every wounded soul that I’ve she’s ever known… as a child, before the “damage was done” so she could tell them how much they are loved.