O' Freedom

O freedom O freedom O freedom over me
And before I will be a slave I will be burried in my grave
And go home to my Lord and be free

There'll be singin there'll be singin there'll be singin over me
And before I will be a slave I will be burried in my grave
And go home to my Lord and be free


When I saw this four year old boy swallowing his tears holding my hands so tight with his little swollen hands, I gave him kisses on his little cheeks. He pointed at his right cheek with his little finger. I gave him another kiss on his right cheek. He pointed at his left cheek. I gave him a kiss on his left cheek. He put his little hands on my face and gave me sad kisses on my cheeks. He looked at my eyes with his eyes full of tears. His eyes were saying that it was ok. He acted as if he would not see me again. He did not cry like a little boy, he swallowed down his sorrow and told me that it was ok with his eyes. It was one of those normal Mondays when I visited that old small orphanage. I myself was also a little girl attending the strict girls' highschool, I still was a novice at nursing babies, I was just as naive as the babies whom I was taking care of. I did not know if I loved them with my whole heart, I just loved being with them. However after that Monday when this little boy swallowed his tears for me, something deeply cut me and I could never let this pain go ever. I was guilty. I even did not know the name of my offense. But I knew that I was guilty. And that was enough to know that I was guilty. And I could not go there anymore.

It has been seven years since that last Monday. It was the beginning of spring. It was still chilly and sometimes icy, but it smelled like pinky yellow flowers already. It was a very sunny day but very cold. It was like today. But today, I still do not know how to purchase the indulgence for my guilt. The spring is coming; the spring for the violets but not for the guilty. Jacob moaned for days and nights tearing his robes without eating when he lost Joseph. That was his right to do that when his heart was torn by grief. It is ok. It is ok to cry over some pain and it is ok that you endure some hurts. The indulgence is free. Only it is needed to trust that it is free to take. You won't be dirty anymore, you won't be guilty anymore. You will shine like snow and bloom like lilies. I see that the little boy's hurt did not cut me, only his heart loved me.



No more weepin no more weepin no more weepin over me
And before I will be a slave I will be burried in my grave
And go home to my Lord and be free



O' freedom over me.




Angel Hye-young Kim