We are goofy, unstylish, odd.
Most of us.

We drive the worst cars
      if we have cars.
We wear what fits,
we fit in, eventually,
      almost.

We eat what is put in front of us,
and find we relish it.

We speak with accents and stutters.
Sometimes we are not understood
even in the places we were born.

We are the weird redheaded cousins
to our families, the black sheep,
some of us, others the glowing saints,
      sometimes on the same day.
They think we’re clumsy, muddy,
tainted, pure, scrubbed, antiseptic.

We are placed on pedestals
or in the jumble closet,
depending on the mood and fashion.

But when there is an explosion
we run into the smoke
we run towards screaming
while others run away.

We compare scars sometimes
matching stab wounds in our backs,
some of us. Burns, scrapes, blisters,
bruises in all the same places.

We have beautiful feet though.
That’s what the old prophet said.

People who bring good news
have lovely feet.

So I bless your feet in Jesus Name.
      Every calloused toe,
      you explorers, you pioneers, you aliens,
      travelers with only one true home,
I bless your feet.

I bless your hands in Jesus Name.
      Your fingertips feel for the pulses
      of your worlds, finding, God willing,
      heads to touch, hands to squeeze,
      brothers and sisters to embrace.
I bless your hands.

I bless your lips in Jesus Name.
      You speak life, peace, healing.
      Fear is afraid of your voices
      because they are full of the Gospel,
      full of love.
I bless your lips.

I bless your hearts in Jesus Name.

      They are overgrown, overflowing,

      they hurt for foreigners, refugees,

      children, for the least stylish,

      the least influential,

      the least.

I bless your hearts.