Friday, February 22, 2013

February 22nd

I have all these words fluttering around inside me, like a flock of black birds.

They won't come to order.

They won't wrap the mystery around, they won't shape it into being seen.

I want the words to do this.

I want to say, "This! This is to love and be loved! This is my Beloved, this is my Friend."

But where can I point? And how can I describe what I haven't seen?

He moves over and through me like wind turning up the leaves,

my spirit turns splintered silver like the surface of water,

wrinkled up into pleasure and murmuring against the shore.

I am so much myself; there is no part of me more real than all the rest.

I could not learn this until I let Him wrap me up warmly in flesh and blood, waiting to lift up into breath.

If He wanted the void, He would still be moving there,
flowing only to and from Himself.

When He said to me,

I made you for Myself,

I denied Him the gift.

I drowned out His voice with a litany of my many offenses. He stood corrected in a court of my own making.

It didn't matter that He waited still, outside the door and wet with dew.

But how can you make God go home when He insists that He lives with you?

I couldn't.

I told Him, very patiently, what it was He really wanted.

He listened, very lovingly, to everything I had say,

and simply disagreed.

So I gave into Him.

Yesterday, I drove up the hill in the clear winter sunshine and across the sky were two jet trails and on the radio I heard:

"So now I come to you with open arms, nothing to hide..."

And my joy in that mundane moment was so great that it was as though my whole spirit lifted up into everything at once,

the light and the sky and the trails of white and the glitter of the windscreen,

and so much loved and in love that I would live my whole life just to be there.

Because I know that's what He says to me, and for once, I believe it.

For once and always, I say it right back to Him, in one long, revealing breath before the next.

And I don't care that He's speaking to me through a Journey song; I'm not too proud.

He could speak to me through the Price is Right and I would not be astonished, not anymore.