The Kingdom is Yours

What do you see when you stare at the wall?
You are strapped to a wheel chair, unable to move.
You can't control your own muscles, drool drips down your chin.
One eye is fixed on something in the distance, one to the side.
Thick black tufts of hair grow in all directions from your head.
What do you think? Do you know who you are, what you are?
Are you screaming inside, trapped in this body? How do you feel?
You grab my hand. I hold yours tight.
You look at me with those eyes, black as night.
What do I see?
You smile, like you have a secret you want to tell me.
And I get this sense like I have tricked.
I look into your eyes, and I don't see rejection and hopelessness. I see life.
I get this sense like you have seen things I have never dreamed of.
I know, strapped in a chair in this room in this orphanage, you have been places I could never imagine.
The kingdom is yours.
Blessed are the poor. The weak. The meek. The last ones. The rejected.
You grab my hand tighter.
Who am I to pity you?
I am too strong. Too independent. Too beautiful.
Too grown up to see what you see, past the colorful wall, out the door, into the air, up and up.
The kingdom is yours.
You know it. You have seen it. You belong to it.
"What do you see?" I ask again, and you begin to grin.
I've had it all wrong. This world is backwards and upside down.
I see in your eyes, that the kingdom is yours.