Fair lady with the alabaster flask, How I wish I were there To smell that fragrance in the air All through the house. And what a cost! A year’s wages! I would not forget that wonderful smell. And who could forget what you did? Many saw you. Many knew you. Many smelled your precious perfume. Fair lady, I wish I had been there.
You look my way, but don’t see me. Looking through me, past me,
I am not present in your eyes.
I am not seen, I am not heard.
Yet God says to me, “I love you, my child.
You are my daughter, lovingly created in my image.”
Of all the literature produced by the early Syrian church, the most prized was composed by Ephrem the Syrian, often called “The Harp of the Holy Spirit.” One of his hymns memorializes the faith of the Samaritan woman whom Jesus met at the well and sent forth as a missionary (see John 4).
Rendered invisible it has happened just too many times
times two squared
Even worse is being rendered visible
but not really important.
Your voice is not really that important they say.
It doesn’t have the right credentials,
Many books behind you ... a following... or enough degrees,
or how could you really have something to say
when you spend many of your days doing laundry,
wiping noses, changing diapers,
raising living human beings, instead of just words on a page.
Living words are not regarded with the same care.