hearts&tales.

In the romantic dream of a sage who teaches you the world's and better ways
is where I often live.
With an honest, in-the-chest yearning for oldness,
history, wrinkles to tell their tales
to speak of human life. To draw me to a warm hearth - and tell me desperate stories.

I have no such formal sage.
Though I searched, and beat my breast when there was none to be found:
a bit like an orphan - wondering what daily life in Christ looks like.

No, but I am in the company of many,
and in the economy of mercy - I am one, with them.
The night of my conversion, the speaker spoke to us on the ground,
"get up, and turn around - welcome to the family of God".

I have read Lewis, Augustine, Keirgkegaard.
Theresa, my Mother of faith, Nouwen,
and His tracings scrawl across the lives of the enlivened and upon the rocks that call.
The stories, yes - desperate. The telling of them unique, human-voiced: loud, boisterous, crying, painful, laughing; and heart felt.
Mmmm, that He might make our hearts the listening hearth upon which His stories tell and resound.

break.down.

ended up sitting in the middle of mess- surrounded by pieces that impossibly fit together - listening to His voice to know when to move one, and where: to follow holy as I have never before.

break.down.
Ignorance threatening terror - but these words are of the most delicious of all.
If I know Him who whispers them,
The One who brings our bodies up with His, through sin - brokenness - and blood,
The One who crushes walls - no matter the magnificence, to get to you - to me.

craving: the frankness of one's insidious sin,
Death to be risen,
And Grace, the soothing balm to mend the ache.
I dance, limping - contented sways of hip to the Master's hum.

break.down -
by violent crash,
or Lover's potent whisper,
into the sweetest Landing of this World.

And be

all. swept. up.



- with Em and others
much peace.