Open My Eyes, Lord

Walking down the hall, my eyes are open

but I do not see the beautiful faces

I pass each day, faces wrinkled with age,

women who have borne 80 or 90 years

of prayer and work, walking a little slower,

but ready for whatever the day brings.

 

Open my eyes to behold each face

filled with holiness, with untold stories

of a childhood spent mostly on farms,

with early risings to do the milking, or feed

the pigs, or gather the eggs from the henhouse. 

Before catching the 6 o’clock school bus.

 

Many of them taught in those rural schools,

filled with sleepy children, more eager

to play than to learn about numbers and

words and dates and foreign places. They

widened minds and encouraged dreams.

 

These women also mended many an apron

and stocking, scrubbed myriads of bathrooms,

mopped hundreds of floors. They exude

goodness and wisdom with every step.

 

Open my eyes, Lord, to know I live

with women wrapped in realms of glory.

 

Barbara Mayer, OSB