jubilee.

Funny that it started as the day finished,
just like that first day:
me hearing You. me in full want, grasping Your grace ... just even to remember the anniversary. even to know what day it is.
and, yes - the celebrating.

Yesterday marked seven years of history,
of following,
of repeating: running,
down,
falling,
knees,
and Your grace, incarnate in history,
even still,
running down to me on my knees.
Your glory, bursting to life a heart wantonly wilted,
now willfully surrendered.
You and I celebrate. Each day, together.



It's Your way,
humbled and the cross
of entering the celebration of You - Your grace.

Seven years. Amen. Seven years.
Captive free. Debt cancelled. Amen.

gasp. touch.

sometimes they grab at my arms
hands open, gasping to touch -
in the rage of why?
or the fear of how?
the despair...of when?
movement. emotion. moment. intensity.
and each passes into the next.
to be near.

reaching out to be close.
letting go.

isn't this what we all want? to be close, to You.

the gospel. Monday at dusk.

on my couch, surrounded by piles of academic papers and bunny-fuzz
I used to think a house should be squeak-clean
but now, I think differently
it's meant only to be devoted back to You.
and the dishes, are half done. The laundry, still in the dryer and the bed never was made.


Monday afternoons, I used to think should be rigidly defined. By work, and with work's purpose, and structure,
but, it's only meant for Your purposes:
so I give thanks for the nap that I had and needed; for the permission to do so, because the paper-writing would so not be happening right now otherwise. On to a second cup of coffee, and an evening - just like the day, filled with Christ and His word when I listen.

You measure with justice, mercy, love and grace.
I give thanks. Thanks.

unfurl

remaining
means to let go:

palms upturned,
work-fingers quieted,

and be caught up in His wild, loving embrace
made colour in His stroke
and beautiful as He blows through ash and soot,
Seeker of clay, Breather of this life

to unfurl, for All -
into All
He is.

living. hope.

:)

Happy Thanksgiving.

Give it. It's His to have, your hands to clap
at good news.

and a hope that is living.

letting go to the Centre.

worst days are for remembering what you've prepared in all the rest:

Somedays it's just plain difficult.
And I come home angry and frustrated and exhausted.
Like yesterday, after a week of hard hard working. Of mustering the energy to cheer them on toward the goal - of laughing and living with them along the way, though every moment knit together will make it very sad to see them no longer.

Because dying, is hard hard work.
Because it's so much work - this letting go, this living in the full,
this being shaped and growing up -
this walking alongside the grieving, of grieving yourself.


It's hard sometimes to do the next thing, the right thing - it's not easy because it's right; lesser than often does right come with the euphoric sense of well-done, more often it comes with opposition that will threaten to beat on your most tender place - your heart. It's hard to come home with the biggest questions weighing heavy in your mind and short-term memory - hard when they come with names and faces.

But easier - when you remember this is a child, of God - Caller of them to His home, lover of them dearly more, through death to life. And you, thank God! as well. Easier when you remember that He meets you together in your moments of nurse and dying, where you each play your part, right. This, is our fellowship.

How! You are the softest, strongest place to fall dead-centre into. The bounds of the heart, soul, body and strength - the One acquainted with salt-traced and testing-stained faces, and companion to the deep burning angry, so as not to become bitter all together.

How long Oh Lord? We don't know.
Until then, Lord have mercy - hold us still, together.


Giving thanks for:
quiet evenings reading with friends
sunny fall days
my sweet, brave NM