The purpose of a life

After Acts 3:1-10

I see his hand, outstretched,

his voice modulated in supplication,

a voice practiced and honed

for years, and I stop and stare, and

wonder what his purpose is, why

he is here, for I have no coin

to drop into his hand, no alms

to soothe his plaintive cry. I see

his face and I know, that I am

to give alms of a different kind.

In his name, rise,

In his name, walk.

Rise and walk.

I pull him up, and the voice

is struck mute for once,

for a moment, that he can

stand, and then he walks,

and then he jumps and

leaps, testing to see if it’s

all some magic trick,

the power of suggestion,

and then he knows,

he knows it is real,

and when he knows

he clings to what

has healed him.

Photograph by Jonathan Sebastiao via Unsplash. Used with permission.