Project Open Hand*

I knock
I wait
I knock again
I hear someone coming

A brief opening of the door
An open hand
A meal given out

That's it
It's not like on the street
With long conversations ending perhaps in prayer
But it's not like background work either
They see us
And this act of servanthood
Could provide their only meal for the day

Sometimes they don't come out
Sometimes the come out right away
None that I saw seemed to spend much time on us
I suppose that's expected since we're just delivering food
And they're right in their homes
Still, I think it's more than that

There's so much sadness there
And shame
And hardened hearts

The ragged, tired, open hand
Reaches out
The only part extending beyond the door
Beyond the boundaries of the dimly-lit cell
Of leprosy
And drugs
And abandonment

It looks so hopeless
Yet I trust
That God is breaking in