Every once in a while a New Yorker magazine poem grabs me. Last month, they reprinted the poem, "Your Blinded Hand", by Tennessee Williams. It took my breath away. I thought of the many victims of terror and imagined them reaching for a loved one in their moment of trauma. I also thought of the hand that often holds mine in times of need, and I went to her. I read the poem to Cindy and we joined hands in reaffirming our love.
This week Cindy and I are thankful for the defeat of an evil man, responsible for so much terror in the world. At the same time, our hearts go out to all whose lives have been torn asunder by disasters. Right now our neighbors in the south, traumatized by the unruly forces of nature, need the helping hand of those who care. If you would like to support tornado victims, your donations to the church will be forwarded directly to Presbyterian Disaster Assistance.
Thank you for your helping hand.
Pastor Steve
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Your Blinded Hand
Suppose that
everything that greens and grows
should blacken in one moment, flower and branch.
I think that I would find your blinded hand.
Suppose that your hand and mine were lost among numberless cries
in a city of fire when the earth is afire,
I must still believe that I would find your blinded hand.
Through flames everywhere consuming earth and air
I must believe that somehow, if only one moment were offered,
I would find your hand.
I know as, of course, you know
the immeasurable wilderness that would exist
in the moment of fire.
But I would hear your cry and you'd hear mine and each of us
would find the other's hand.
We know that it might not be so.
But for this quiet moment,
if only for this moment
and against all reason
let us believe, and believe in our hearts,
that somehow it would be so.
I'd hear your cry, you mine -
And each of us would find a blinded hand.
-Tennessee Williams