I think that no man really knows the rope-clay
vessel that trans-persons are...

No man can see the fissures that are growing,
hidden by deep glazes...

no man can truly tell when the vessel is over-filled,
so near to breaking from the weight within...

and then, when the vessel shatters even in our own
hands, and when no man can put the vessel back
together, then all men weep over the shards left
upon the ground.  

And after the weeping, I think that Jesus comes

and picks up every shard...

    the shard-echoes of his youthful songs in
    church, He sends to a friend to encourage

    the shard-memories of his stealing cookies on
    5 year-old bare feet in the night, He sends to
    his parents to comfort them...

    the shard-joy of his laughter and humor He
    sends to school chums to heal their fears...

    but the shard of prayer, He keeps for Himself
    and takes it home to heaven...

And there, that prayer-shard is held by His nail-
printed hands ever so gently...

and as His eyes turn to flames, the prayer-shard
becomes diamonds that glisten in the eternal sun...

and the diamonds are placed into a crown of gold...

and then that crown is placed upon the young
man's head by the very Jesus we adore.

"Welcome home," He whispers so kindly, "I

And then the young man hugs the One that truly
understands the rope-clay, the fissures hidden, and
the weight within.

Not a shard is wasted...  
not a bit of the clay of this life is lost...
in the economy of God.

Sometimes, I like to think
that the proof of God's love,
is not so much found in the glory of vessels
or even found in the magnificent treasure within,
But the proof of His love
is rather found,
I think
so often,
in His handling of the shards.

Much love always;



(c) Copyright Caryn LeMur 2007
The Collection of Short Works,
Letters, and Poems
His Handling Of The Shards
I received a letter from Julie.

In that letter, she expressed that
she was requested to speak at the
'candlelight vigil' for a 16 year-old
trans boy that had taken his own

She, the living, asked for prayer.

He, the dead, was silent.

And then, I sat down and wrote.

After all, the vessel was
shattered, and all that was left,
were simply shards.



His Handling Of
The Shards

<<<Long Hugs!>>>

Concerning the 16 year-old that
took his own life... I too, am
deeply saddened.
In Deepest Sympathy -
Poetry for those that grieve
Building Faith, Hope, & Love -
Stories and Writings
A Cup Of Cold Water -
Letters For The Thirsty
A Pause In The Forest -
Poetry for thoughtful moments