I Am . . .


I am

who I am.



it feels like it is not okay to be me,

when I hurt

and when I cry,

when I am a child alone,


That is how it feels . . .

It is not okay to be me.


It feels like I have to be

someone else . . .

but I don’t know who that is.

My mother, my father,

never told me.


If I can only find out


someday . . .

I will be happy.

I will be me,

and it will be okay.


But another part of me

cries out, even now,


You ARE you – and it IS okay.

That day will never come

when it is okay for you to be you

because . . .

It is here already –

it has always been here.



You are the child God created,

and he loves you

right now

for who you are.


You do not need to change

or be someone else

to receive God’s love.


You are worthy to be loved by


The Creator of the Universe,

right here,

right now.

Because . . .

you are precious.

Because you matter.

Because you are wonderful.

Because you are . . .

                     a miracle.


Remember when you were little

and carried your soft, fuzzy friend


         Maybe it was a teddy bear

         or a bunny

         or a blanky

and you cared for it

and loved it

and felt loved in return . . .


That child is still there,


wondering where the teddy went,

wondering why the blanky is gone,

dying a little,


each day

from lonliness and sorrow.


But whoever said


you couldn’t have

love and acceptance

when it came time

to set aside the teddy,

the blanky

for grown-up things?


Why did you tell your child

deep inside,


that she doesn’t matter,

that he doesn’t count?


Why did you put her away

in a dark box?

Why did you lock him up

in that cold and sightless place

where loneliness holds court

and sorrow is his servant?


He … is You.

She…  is You.


Open the prison door,

let in the light,

let in the truth,

that you are loved,

that you are worthy,

that you matter;

that YOU . . .

make a difference

because . . .

              YOU . . . are a miracle.



                                    Copyright ©, Peter Schipper

                                    Pueblo, Colorado, February, 1992