I can still feel my fingers
at the keys, tapping out eternal warnings to fellow thirteen year old pilgrims on the OG messenger platforms brains early in development didn’t stop my confident assertions I came at matters of belief like a child soldier lobbing theological grenades in the name of love? Thankfully, the turnings and conversions birthed from the faces and spaces that flipped my assumptions and judgments came divinely appointed again and again and again The ones the world calls lesser whom Jesus calls blessed kept bringing me home to the news that God never wanted appeasement or child soldiers or fear-based ultimatums Just mercy, and love, and embrace Though I shudder at times to think of my youthful arrogance I know this current me-in-progress fingers at the keys, tapping out reflections will appear immature in my rearview mirror twenty years from now And even as I look now at my own children in development I never want them to feel ashamed of the winding path they must walk to come home to the news that God only ever looks like mercy, and love, and embrace.
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It’s been raining for as long as this goldfish can remember
And the forecast shows no sign of change And I am tempted to complain about the moat forming around my castle, But then, I think of floodwaters Rising to meet eaves And the displaced ones Scattered through churning streets My mind Jumps borders Envisages explosions Tries to reckon with invasion The places where displacement Is not by nature, but by design The gridlocked chess match Of expensive weaponry and fragile egos History is a finger painting of innocent blood On repeat Much closer to home I think of the friends who cannot sleep Battling invisible mental beasts They text me to pray for them I pray Psalm 23 for us all, For the whole flooded, bloody mess of it Are there green pastures and quiet streams, Amidst all the dark valleys and enemy tables? Sometimes I lose sight of the shepherd As it all swirls through my mind To the sound of constant rain, I am hyper aware of the shelter I have from the storms I am sheltered — physically and emotionally And there is no entitlement in it No deserving of it The things I am most grateful for Feel like subtle reminders of injustice And I don’t know how to do anything else, Except cry out for the shepherd: Please, Don’t hide now. |
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