Here I sit, with the crowds,
All competing for the prize—
"First one into the pool."
Those who need the angel's touch the least
Will most likely get there first . . .
And I'm not even near the starting line.
No one comes to this place
But the unwhole waiting to be fixed,
So many sick ... so little help.
Look at me! Your question
"Wilt thou be made whole?"
Hardly warrants a civil reply.
But it has shaken me to the core,
And now I see an angel
Stirring the resigned waters of my thought.
Will I be made whole? or did God
Make me whole and able to prove it?
I've got to change my position!
All these years of waiting
For others to grant absolution
Can't delay what I now see.
One simple question has altered,
From invalid to valid,
My sense of God-derived self-government.
Now the question raises a healed response.
"Will I be made whole?
Yes, I am whole and will continue to be!"
