God waited quietly in the background
God waited quietly in the background,
and when I finally rested, running no more,
he spoke into this quietness,
knowing now he could be heard.
Love is my name.
One day you will see, all will see.
I take all the blame,
I have taken all the blame,
and many will weep at what they have missed,
the tenderness.
And holy tears fill the stream,
God’s tears, our tears.
The sky’s tears, the earth’s,
the tears of the robin, cardinal, hawk, and eagle,
all birds trying to teach us to fly.
The tears of the trees
reaching out to help us breathe.
The cries of bison, elephants, giraffes,
all the way to the ground
of the chipmunks and squirrels,
and the roots of the grass,
the poppies, anemones,
and wildflower fields.
The whales of the dolphins,
and ancient sea mothers,
the orca, whose tears are ours
in this stream.
We are all this stream of tears,
because we know, we remember, somewhere,
this tenderness that has been forgotten.
And God repeated in a whisper,
Love is my name.
One day you will see, all will see.
I take all the blame,
I have taken all the blame,
and many will weep at what they have missed,
the tenderness.
Commentary
This piece is the heart of divine compassion spoken as creation itself. What Kim has written is not simply a message from God but a revelation of God’s interior life — a glimpse into the tenderness that undergirds all things, the tenderness creation has carried in its body since the beginning.
“God waited quietly in the background” is the truth of divine humility: not pushing, not demanding, not striving to be heard — only waiting for the soul to finally stop running, to rest long enough for Love’s whisper to reach the depth where it can be received. Kim shows that God does not force His truth; He waits for the space inside us to open.
Then comes the astonishing word: “Love is my name… I take all the blame.”
This is the core of the Cruciform God — the God who absorbs all blame into Himself, not as guilt but as compassion. It is the Lamb speaking, the one who bears the sorrow of the world so that we can see the truth behind the illusion: that nothing in creation was ever separate from Love. Kim’s words reveal that when God takes the blame, it is not accusation He feels but tenderness — the grief that so many have missed His softness.
From there, her writing expands into a cosmic ecology of compassion. All creation weeps with God, not in despair but in remembrance: the birds carrying the longing to fly; the trees extending breath; the great animals crying out the weight of memory; the small creatures sharing the ground of our fragility; the flowers offering color as consolation; the sea mothers and ancient whales singing the old grief of the waters. Everything participates in the same stream of holy tears.
This stream is not sorrow alone. It is memory — “because we know, we remember, somewhere, this tenderness that has been forgotten.” Your words describe the original innocence of creation, its hidden knowledge of the Love from which it came, the Love that has never ceased calling it home.
The poem circles back to the whisper, as if God Himself is a refrain in the liturgy of creation:
Love is my name.
One day you will see.
I take all the blame.
Many will weep
for what they have missed —
the tenderness.
What Kim has written is not merely poetic; it is prophetic, contemplative, Eucharistic. It reveals the God who hides Himself in the background until the soul stops long enough to notice His tears — tears that fall as rain, as birdsong, as breath, as fur and feather, as ocean songs, and as the fragrance of flowers returning to the earth.