But the wail rises to heaven, above a billion clicks.
To say to Rachel,
Inconsolable, because her children are not.
The blood of Uvalde’s children cry out,
Making our breakfast strawberries congeal in our throat.
Bear the thought…
Of the hour-long…
The forty minutes…
“God, tell me their angels were there…” I plead.
“What use are their angels who stand before You
“When children in terror… on terra, bleed?
“Tell me they ushered them,
“quickly up the stairs;
“Up to heaven, to stand at peace, with them, before You.”
Oh walls, He hears your cry!
Oh floor, He heeds your testimony!
No mere water can wash you clean;
No earthly power can wash you down.
But Heaven’s dunamis will blow you out!
Pentecost Fire will purge that room;
The Lamb’s blood and tears flow from it
Out into the streets and speak…
Will we heed the language of the Spirit
Who sees the terrors birthed in a heart gone wicked.
Can we, waking, heed the messenger and move?
How will we answer?
The innocent One was slain
To stem the evil tide against the sons and daughters.
We pray, “Oh Lord, haste the Day! Let Your Kingdom come!”
But, in the ‘not yet’—
Today, we lay small bodies down,
As grandparents sit appalled;
Today, a husband’s heart bursts in grief, for the horrors his wife saw, and died for;
Today, birthday plans lie on the heap of yesterday’s dreams.
Cry for the children, yet alive, yet no more children
After this dread day.
Cry, today, as Uvalde weeps for her children,
Because they are not.
*(Image Titled ‘Victory’ is art done on a segment of the Berlin Wall, by Cape Town, SA, street artist, Faith47, caught on camera by the author at the Bastogne WWII museum 31/05/22)