With a poke of her finger
the child's blood oozed out.
She startled at the pain
but patiently cooperated
while together we watched
the hemocue vial fill with a drop
of her blood for the iron test.
With a bandage, a sticker
and a kiss from her mother
she was on her way-
proudly showing her wound
to anyone who would look...
With one stab of the lance
His blood flowed,
sticky and warm down
his thin, battered side.
There was no movement on His part,
no startled jerk in response
to the pain.
But it was she who winced
and grabbed at her own side
in a fruitless effort to stop
the pain she felt.
Unable to reach him
to give that motherly kiss
that takes away the pain,
she simply stood,
working against the swoon
and watching the drops of blood
as they splattered down.
One precious drop fell on her sleeve
and she wiped it with her forefinger.
Tears fell and mingled with the blood.
She gently rubbed the tears and blood
between her forefinger and thumb
as if that caress would ease the pain-
that pain-
foretold so many years before
in those curious words-
"A sword shall pierce your heart"
-and now she understood-
two Sacred Hearts, one unbearable pain.
His blood, her tears,
poured out silently,
eternally,
together,
poured out
without an end.
And now...I reach
out my hands in my desire
for Him,
my need to lessen His pain;
I receive His body, His blood,
her tears-
into my own body
where it mingles with my blood
and is released in my tears.
My action of deep faith and love
does what she could not do
on that black day.
She couldn't ease His pain
or lesson her own sorrow then,
but now...
she takes my hand, leads
me to Him
and I become the one who
can kiss the hurt away
with my devotion
and my love.
