I was not there when they first saw the Lord
and did not believe the disciple’s word.
“We have seen the Lord, ” they all said to me,
but it seemed too impossible to be.
He can’t be alive because He’d just died.
I’d need to thrust my hands into His side
and put my fingers where the nails had been
before I could believe what they had seen.
But the next time Jesus came I was there
and I saw His wounds and became aware
of Who He really was and why He died.
“My Lord and my God, ” I fell down and cried.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem