she aimed a bullet at his heart.
A million times and more,
she ran from his body — still alive, still reaching.
A thousand times and more,
a child prayed things would be better:
a present man,
a husband who truly adored his wife.
A hundred times and more,
the Saviour kept knocking —
His still, small voice whispering, “Let Me in,”
but her heart stayed frozen with fear.
Ten times and more,
a Father to her —
and then, a father for her,
one to whom she truly belonged.
And this one time,
a child — finally a child —
with a father gained,
and a mother made whole again.
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