Whose Child Was He?

 

Whose Child Was He?

Theology in the Trenches

By Kathleen Kjolhaug

(I use the male pronoun based on my personal experience which led to this writing.)

I could not help but wonder as I passed nearby.

Or as I shared a dollar and he gave a sigh.

 

I wonder who it was that dressed him when a child.

Or which of all his grandma’s were the meek and mild.

 

I wonder when he took his steps for the first time.

And if the books read to him were nursery rhymes.

 

I can all but see his smile coming home from school.

Most days I bet that he did follow all the rules.

 

Now he stands with pants that hang well below the waist.

Begging those who pass by for anything in haste.

 

I cannot help but wonder what happened to him.

Were other friends not so nice and now hope’s been dimmed?

 

Why not me? I often wonder while driving by.

Somedays I give a little but it seems so dry.

 

When I stop I try to look him right in the eye.

And then I see a brother who gives a heart cry.

 

Intently he is grateful without words spoken.

For what I choose to give is but a mere token.

 

He’s a brother not a bother—and we know why.

He’s made in the image of our Father who’s nigh.

 

Remind me Father what You said so long ago.

You wrote it in your Word as we trod to and fro.

 

Matthew 5:41 says what we are to do.

“And if you’re forced to go one mile, go with him two.”

 

As we toss a gift or coin in his direction.

We must not forget to take time for reflection.

 

Thank God we can give a little as some receive.

And now we do live out the truth that we believe.

                                            

 “More blessed it is to give than it is to receive.”

Acts 20:25 is what will give reprieve.

Amen.