Faith can move mountains.
It doesn’t always.

Do I not see third-world miracles in my first world
Because I don’t believe they happen here?
I pray unbelieving,
knowing he will do what he will do.
Lazy praying.

But this time I prayed expecting the mountains to move.
I could see her running on the front lawn.
I’d squeeze her up tight,
Watch her beautiful furrowed brow question my excitement.
I’d say this is what I prayed for and believed could happen,
and it happened
because he can move mountains,
he can do miracles still.

I checked my email after I finished praying,
Expecting to see she had awakened,
Jairus’s daughter in our first world.
But it was empty.

The mountains didn’t move this time.
I don’t know why.

I won’t say, At least . . .
Because there are no at leasts in mourning.
Just deep black swells of sorrow.

A friend said there are so many questions, and I don’t know the answer.
But I know what the answer is not
When I look at the cross where he hung his child for mine.

I worry it sounds trite.
In the pain, are there words?:
He will one day kill death.
He is making all things new.
He is making everything sad come untrue.

But not today.
Today is broken.

He will return with might.
He will take out the mountains.
Maybe she’ll help him
Usher us in
To the flatlands.

Several people have graciously asked about this sorrow: Friends in our community lost their young daughter, and we mourn with them. 7/10/15