We come to you with threads undone—
of guilt that will not be released,
of loneliness that chills the bone,
of trauma’s echo, never ceased;
we bring the shock of sudden grief—
a parent gone, a child unwell,
a friend’s betrayal without relief,
and sleepless nights we know too well.
We lay before you all we’ve stored,
this bitter gall, this inward cry—
torn shreds of sorrow, scattered, worn,
a cloth that cannot hold or lie.
And you—
you take each trembling, broken thread,
not rushing what has long been bound;
with patient hands and presence spread,
a shelter safe for all that’s said.
How shall we name the splendor of your art—
this quiet loom, this patient heart?
You do not force, you do not bind,
but sit beside our searching minds;
and in that space, both wide and still,
new colors come, new shapes of will.
A tear you do not ask us to hide,
you see it—and let it abide;
in silence deep, a reverent space
where cleansing finds its time and place.
One day, in distress, we will gather these threads,
though once we could not see their hand;
you showed us how the scattered strands
could form a stronger, steadier band.
And what was once so torn apart
becomes the fabric of our hearts—
a quilt of memories we can wear,
stitched firm with loss and tender care.
You have helped us weave this story,
with patches stitched in truth, not blame;
but hands that hold the child in us
and gently call a kinder name.
For in this sacred, shared exchange,
the seeds of love have now been sown…
what once we received in quiet grace
becomes the strength we’ve grown.
A life renewed we’ve come to live,
beyond the loss we once had grieved;
and so the cloth we have received
becomes the one we learn to give.
© Dick Millspaugh
Dick Millspaugh is a retired Board Certified Hospital Chaplain ordained by the United Methodist Church. He was previously Chief of Chaplains at the VA San Diego Healthcare System. Dick and his wife currently reside in Scripps Ranch. He enjoys writing poetry, woodworking, ceramics, and playing Bocce Ball.
