Comforting?

What does it mean to be holy in a sinful body? What does it mean to be truly humble in our relationships? How do you reach the ones who are so far retreated inside themselves, even they have forgotten the way out?  In lieu of answers (which I’m working on), I want to share a sort of poem almost directly lifted from one of my recent conversations with a twelve-year-old girl.

I say, what’s your favorite part about school?

Leaving.

I say, okay, so what’s your least favorite part?

Coming.

The teachers, she says, spend all their time

yelling.

The teachers, she says, spend no time 

listening.

They say, she’ll make it through just fine 

complying.

They say, she just needs to stop all her 

fighting.

Really? That’s what they say to be

comforting?

Really?