The God I know has lots of sons and daughters and those who don’t identify with either of those labels. The God I know walks the streets and carries water; sits with those who know nothing but pain. The God I know is the bedrock of the land, the crash of the ocean and forgotten paths up the back of the mountain. The God I know loves without borders and seeps into parts of the world that seem devoid of light, carrying a whisper of something we may never understand in a language we knew before we were born.
The God I Know, Part Two
The God I know
walks across borders,
children in hand,
because it’s the only thing
left to do.
The God I know
rocks toddlers
who shiver in fear
because what they know
feels gone forever.
The God I know
walks with parents
who wonder what they could have done
while worry sits, silent and heavy
on their shoulders.
The God I know
whispers in the ears
of those who wonder about following orders
from others who are afraid
of what it means to love your neighbor.
The God I know
loves without limits
and weeps into the parts
of the world that seem far too broken–
that God wants us to remember
there is no such thing
as other people’s children
and we belong to each other,
just like the source of all things
belongs to all, unwavering even today.The God I Know, Part Three
The God I know
sits on the street with those
closest to fear as pain and grief collide.
The God I know
wonders when we will figure out
what it truly means to love one another.
The God I know
reminds us that thoughts
and prayers alone aren’t enough.
The God I know
calls for right action, the sort that
opens hearts and minds in new ways.
The God I know
points to a bridge, one with
the capacity to carry heavy loads.
The God I know
walks across the bridge
to offer peace to a stranger.
The God I know
whispers continually that not
all is lost even when we think it is.The God I Know, Part Four
The God I know
is Rizpah on the mountain
seeking justice for her boys.
The God I know
sees color in a way that
honors stories of the other.
The God I know
calls us all into figuring out
what it means to be a good neighbor.
The God I know
isn’t afraid to show up
in inconvenient places.
The God I know
remains, even amidst
uncertainty, confusion and heartache.
The God I know
is clear that while we may be one human race,
the color white has wielded power for too long.
The God I know
moves to crack and crumble privilege
into something that looks more like love.The God I Know, Part Five
The God I know
doesn’t ban love from church
when some people don’t agree
with how love presents itself.
The God I know
doesn’t underwrite decisions
that claim some lifestyles
are more holy than others.
The God I know
doesn’t strengthen rules
that exclude and shame
in the name of praise.
The God I know
doesn’t inspire interpretations
of the Word that say, “you’re wrong.”
You love who you love, and that’s beautiful.
The God I know
opens hearts
minds
doors
to unify all people
through every storm,
no matter who you love.The God I Know, Part Six
The God I know
adds love to spaces between
everywhere across the globe.
The God I know
sits with kids who need school to feel safe/fed/heard,
parents and teachers doing the best they can with the tools they have.
The God I know
walks next to the unhoused,
those ordered to shelter in a place they didn’t have.
The God I know
heals through the hands of many
offering peace when war seems to be waged from within.
The God I know
cradles the sick and those who love them
with a story that promises death isn’t the end.
The God I know
fills a newly quiet earth
with birdsong and clear skies at dawn.
The God I know
is the truth of trauma and miracle
existing side by side.The God I Know, Part Seven The God I know is still on the mountain, Rizpah seeking justice for her boys. The God I know is a Black man face down on pavement gasping for breath at the hands of police. The God I know is more outraged by white supremacy’s violence than church doors ordered shut. The God I know is a white person confronting her own racist ideals. The God I know is calling us all in to do the anti-racist work of rebuilding the kingdom one truth at a time until all lives really do matter. The God I Know (Despite Everything) The God I know doesn’t occupy lands and support the oppression of a people for decade after decade. The God I know doesn’t kill the children of one people to liberate the children of another. The God I know doesn’t condone violence of any kind as justice no matter how righteous that violence seems to some. The God I know sits with parents of children lost and living on both sides of the blockade as they do their best to tend their pain and embody love in a war zone. The God I know keeps laying bricks on the bridge to peace even when more parts of that bridge are blasted away every day. The God I know helps bear loads too heavy to carry up mountains we may not summit in this lifetime. The God I know takes the packs of the weary, sets the table with hope, and invites us to sit together to listen long enough to find a new way forward.
Heidi Barr (she/her) is a writer and wellness coach whose work is founded on a commitment to cultivating ways of being that are life-giving and sustainable for people, communities, and the planet. She is the author of several books of creative nonfiction, including Collisions of Earth and Sky and Woodland Manitou, and co author of 12 Tiny things. She’s also authored two other poetry collections, one cookbook, and is editor of “The Mindful Kitchen,” a wellness column in The Wayfarer Magazine. One of the inaugural Poets of Place for the lower St. Croix Valley, her poetry has been featured in numerous publications, including the St. Paul Almanac and South Dakota in Poems. She lives with her family in rural Minnesota, where they tend a large vegetable garden, explore nature, and do their best to live simply. Learn more at heidibarr.com.
