Owner of a Humble Heart

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Sometimes I can see it as clear as crystal. There are days I wake up and know, beyond a shadow of a doubt with straight as an arrow accuracy, like it’s shot forth from the sun, aimed true, arriving whole, point on.

… as a mirror,sheer, sharp, angled in a reflective and repeating pattern that goes on into infinity.

Other times it’s shadowed and billowy, like smoke, hiding in the twilight, blurred and hazy.

What is this that I think I know? What is it that rings clear with truth, a pure tone, one note alone?

It is the truth of a humble heart.

For the world clamors with the noise of power and control. It pays its respects to the prosperous and those with clout and prestige, bowing to the mighty. But how have they arrived? By walking upon the the backs of the broken, wounded or needy?

…while quiet servers, builders of beauty, contributors of strength, often go unnoticed.

…the people of substance.

I’m not speaking of the pitifully pious; the stone-hurlers.  Far from it. There are those who follow the true spirit of a sandal clad Christ, feeding multitudes, healing the hurting and crying with the wounded.

Nations rage, hands grasp, turmoil surges. Divisions of color, race and creed multiply like the fish of the sea.

But the humble heart is open. The humble heart is love. It is giving and kind, serving and empathetic. It clothes the naked, houses the orphan, helps the single mother with no food on her table. It doesn’t search out the bottom line or interest accrued. It reserves judgement and overlooks faults. It cares for those on the perimeters, regardless of creed, color or identity.

They will be the first to say they are far from perfect, but isn’t that the essence of humility?

There are those who are on my list of heroes, and their names aren’t etched on walls. My heart pushes past the boisterous arrogance of pulpit pounding and self-promotion, leaning in to watch as these men and women wash the dirty feet of neglected children and wipe the tear-stained faces of long-forgotten wards and hollow halls.

Not only are they the nurturers, but they are also the creators. They are those who create light, hope and purpose along the darkened pathway of a world too-often seduced by the covert, or the clamor, or sometimes shallow meanderings.

…And those humble-hearted souls are quietly plying their trade of words, images or ideas – uplifting the world as an air current does a dirigible; steering, guiding, directing the rigid or otherwise rudderless.

So, yeah. The sun is shining brightly today, shooing the clouds away, lighting up the crevices and crannies. It knows what it’s doing.

And I can see all the better for it.

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