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Rated: 13+ · Poetry · Religious · #2200541
Suppose Jesus ministered to the detained children on the southern border.
Suffer the little children,
who come unto Me,
for such is the Kingdom of heaven.

He said that to His disciples
when they were concerned over
little ones who were drawn to Him.

When our Savior walked the earth,
those little ones flocked to Him.
To Him they did belong,
They were weak, but He is strong.
All precious in His sight.

I pondered that the other day,
while seeing other children,
Crying, frightened, lonely,
ripped away from their parents.

Innocent victims of ruthless adults,
forced to journey through heartless terrain,
to a foreign land in hopes of refuge.
To find the door slammed shut.

What would we do if the kindest face
and gentlest touch which ever were,
would walk through the border and
hold these precious little ones?

If these little brown-skinned ones
received His loving touch and were healed
of sicknesses brought on by our neglect?

We claim Him as our Savior
and ask if others know Him,
but what would we do?
What would we say?
If we saw Him comfort the little children
We were told had to suffer?
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