When I Met You

Love That Flows to the Low Places

When I met You,
I was small,
and I had no strength.
Even with my eyes open,
all I could do
was look up at the sky.

With nothing in my hands,
there was nothing
I could do.
Somewhere, I believed,
there must be
a love like that—
a love without a name.

Not with certainty,
but with quiet hope,
not with confidence,
but with a simple longing,
I held it silently within me.

I had never seen it,
never heard of it,
not once had I known it.
Yet I did not stop dreaming,
and I did not let go
of that small thread.

And then,
You came looking for me.
To the place where
I could not come to You,
You came first.
I could not find You,
but You recognised me,
drew near,
and met me.

How such a thing could happen,
I still cannot fully grasp.
What lay beyond imagination
came to me.
To one who was alive,
yet not truly living,
the day I met You
was the day breath began again.

Love that flows to the low places,
moving ever lower,
choosing the lowest ground,
widening,
deepening,
until at last
it becomes
a love that flows.

**these are my own paintings*