a simple poem. but beautiful. because it's simple. and because it's true.

Follow Me . . .

Listen. There’s a group of people
I want to tell you about.
They’re not the
extraordinarily intelligent,
strikingly beautiful,
got-it-all-together,
know-it-all
kind of people.
They’re the
kind of people
who’ll stop
by the side of the road
to pull a total stranger
out of the mud.

No, they’re not perfect.

They’re human. But they’re the
kind of people
who’ll stay up all night
with you when you
find out
your grandfather just died.
They’re the kind of people
you fall asleep with
while watching long movies.

No, they’re not perfect.

They’re the kind of people
you eat too many
hand-picked apples with
and sprain your ankle
miniature golfing with.
They’re the kind of people you walk
up to at a frat house with
where unfamiliar students
are sitting outside
and you invite those students
to come and learn
about Jesus.

No, they’re not perfect.

They’re the kind of people
that try to have conversations
that cut through
all the walls and all the masks
people use to keep other people
at a safe distance.

No, they’re not perfect,
and they don’t pretend to be.

That’s the thing.
They’ve done everything else.
They didn’t used to think twice
about picking locks,
stealing road signs,
drinking a 5th of gin
after a whole case of Molsen Ice,
sleeping with a new guy
every Friday night because
they were too lonely
to sleep by themselves.
They used to be petrified of death.
They used to wake up
in the middle of the night
with tears streaming
down their faces
because they new something
was missing in their life,
but they didn’t know what.
They used to stand
in from of the mirror
and wish they could
look like a Vogue model
or be as famous,
because that would mean
people accepted them.
They used to think
they could do it all on their own.
They used to think they
could find ultimate satisfaction
in education
or saving the environment
or fighting for a cause
or looking good to others
or trying to do what they thought
was the right thing.

They weren’t perfect then,
and they’re not perfect now.

They realized these things
didn’t last forever.
A person can only
sleep with someone
stay angry
get drunk
steal
hurt
put up walls
protest
study
look good
act perfect
and stay miserable
for so long.

Then it gets old
and they want someone
to be there
when their fun-loving mask
has worn off,
their ambition has fizzled,
their grades have sunk,
their walls have tumbled
and their heart is broken.

This is what happened to
the people I want you to meet.
They realized
there was another way,
a better way.
Then someone whispered quietly
in their ears, “Follow me,”

And they did.

Christina Burke
Wheaton College
Norton, Massachusetts
Class of 1997