Angel With A Cane

She was old, she was so thin and frail, and the way the sun shone through her silver hair,

you'd have thought she was an angel,

only with a cane instead of wings.

I heard her voice at a distance.

Though it was not loud, something about it drew me closer.

Not too close - because anyone could tell she was praying.

But I had to hear her words. I knew they would do me good.

I had just sent off my brother's son, off to another turn with the current misery

in the Mideast,

off with his gun and all the rest,

and with a package of the cookies he loves the best,

my granny's secret recipe.

I added lots of prayers to those cookies. Lots of wishes, too -

I added all I know to do;

but there must be more, I know there must.

That's why the heavens provided that old woman's prayers for me to overhear.

Ever since I heard her, I've taken on that old woman's prayers as my very own.

Can't help it. They make good sense.

Woman sense.

Old wise woman life-of-love-and-mercy sense.

Her words - now my words - are these:

"Oh, dear God - I'm praying, love-for-Love, for all the militaries and paramilitaries,

all the mercenaries and child slave-soldiers all over this earth -

I pray for them all to be freed from the curse of killing each other.

Oh, could you fill them with the desire and the power to make homes for those

whose homes they have destroyed?

Wouldn't that be something!

I pray for them to work together, get to know each others' stories,

their family tales -

And more, I pray for that great Love which is the I Am, you know - it's You!

For that Love to just flow all around them,

every one,

and bring about forgiveness of themselves and each other and all of us,

because we did not know how to stop them before they started the killings,

and we did not understand how to get them to stop after they started, either.

We just all need some peace and quiet and time, and that River flowing around us,

that Love washing over us.

Would you do that for us? We'd surely appreciate it and then some.

I pray for all those people to come home.

There's not a single one of them, no matter what they've done to who,

that I would not welcome into my arms, my old frail loving arms.

I just want them to stop all that mess and come on home.

Bless their hearts,

and bless ours,

and may we all be better students from here on out.

Students of the Golden Rule, I mean.

I love you, Dear God. You know that. I just purely do love you.

Please help us out with this."

After I heard her words and felt what I felt,

I cried a little and went on home,

and I have been unable to stop that prayer from just rising up through me

at all kinds of odd times of day and night ever since.

And you know, I do agree with her.

I can see myself holding every one of them in my old arms,

and that's the God's truth.