Today we may not feel as if we are
Star of the week,
Just feeling ordinary, nothing special,
Aspiring to a level we will never make,
And yet… and yet…
Through another lens,
In another reality, we are always Star of the week,
Not because of riches or power or fame or success,
Not because we have great faith, or strength, or wisdom,
But because we are known, cherished and cared for,
By the humblest, most extraordinary Star of the Weak.
Star of the broken, Star of the Lost, Star of the Hurting,
The humblest star of all.
And no one, no matter how small, is overlooked.
And when it comes down to it, through reality’s lens,
Everyone is ordinary really,
When they are on their own,
Asleep, on the loo, sneezing…
We’re all beggars invited to the banquet.
So, blessed are the ordinary,
Blessed are the run of the mill,
Blessed are those of us who don’t make Star of the week.
For we are precious and always present to the Star of the Weak.