A letter from God to you and me.

In your beginning,
I delicately formed you in your mother's womb.
A womb that you can not even imagine.
Beautiful and intricate.
But, stern and absent.
And then you were formed by your family.
Left to hold your own, and you did.
And you fought for everything you thought you needed.
You saw a glimpse of me in your adolescence.
You awkwardly sought me in your sin.

And you cried out for comfort when you needed
Mercy and truth.
You cried out for monetary blessings
when you desperately needed spiritual maturity.
And you lashed out when you should have drawn near.
I was watching, just out of reach
from where you wanted to be.
I was the light you could not look at, through the darkness.
I was the love and the hope.
I was the life and the truth.
That you swung your bitterness at, in a drunken rage.
Like an over-sized baseball bat.
Like a warrior's sword, too heavy for a child to hold up.

I am the grace and the mercy.
That you will always need.

Then I whispered in your ear;
and you fell to your knees.
Crying out a drunkard's prayer.
Awkward, clumsy, messy and beautiful.

And then you were like a new born baby.
Needing milk like a baby kitten.

Like a stray dog getting let into the house.

Malnourished and flea bitten.
And I nourished you with every breath.
I quickened your spirit.

You became thirsty and hungry.

And now you are like a sapling
of an oak tree.
And now you are like a adolescent eagle.
Forming new feathers everyday.
And now I will show you my will.
Show you how to trust.
Show you the Way.

You will become like the Son.
You will be the son I always wanted
you to be.
You will be transformed again.
You will be given new life again.
I will patiently bring you new life every morning.
Like you didn't ruin it the day before.
And we will rejoice together,
Like I knew we would from the beginning.

Waiting for the Blink of an Eye.

Watching feels like waiting.

Waiting feels like sitting on the edge, looking for 

something to stand out among the mundane.

Mundane because what I am waiting for is

bigger than any of this.

We have heard whispers of what I am waiting for.

We have been told to watch the skies.

We have been told that we will wish for 

the mountains to roll over onto us.

I am there, waiting.

I have been watching for a decade and some years.

Grown anxious and learned patience.

I have been broken down and rebuilt.

I have rebelled; been dragged kicking and screaming

back to the place where peace can cover all sins.

Reformed into a new vessel.

Even though we have seen what it means for a generation to turn away.

Now I know what it feels like to yearn 

and pant for love, 

like a deer pants for water.

I am listening for the rocks to cry out.

Waiting for the people to turn back around

or... 

for the sky to shout.

Waiting for the blink of an eye.

Although I can not comprehend the the thought of 

heaven without them...

I am hoping for the one thing that will

leave my brothers behind.

I am willing but not able.

The Young Woman, Melinda and an Old Man.

The young mother wiped the counter for the third time this morning and they haven’t even opened the doors yet.  She just needed something to do in hopes that Melinda, her co-worker, would not notice her blood-shot eyes welling up again.  She has grown weary of speculating why he left her.  Why he didn’t want the dreams anymore. Why he didn’t want them anymore.  She had grown weary of wondering what she could have said or what book she could have suggested that might make him love her again.  A book that might snap him out of his slumber and remember why he loved her so much.  She had given up hoping for the miracle of him waking up from the dead and walking out of the tomb to look for her.
She stood up from wiping the lower level behind the counter and rested both her hands on the counter.   Not sure if she was holding herself up or if the counter was the only thing keeping her from falling.  

She jumped when she felt something touch her back, “Who touched me?”
“Who touched me?!  Are you doing okay?” Melinda turned her and saw her eyes.  “Oh, honey. Not again. You have to just get over him and move on.  Don’t let him effect you anymore, he wins every time you get upset.”
She turned away. Not ready to move on and not ready to keep fighting.

Melinda paused and said, “Are you gonna be okay if I open these doors? It’s five after six and Larry is already waiting for his morning coffee.  Can’t keep him waiting.” Melinda tried to lighten the mood shaking her keys as she walked to the front door.  Larry was pretending to not be impatiently waiting for his morning coffee.

“Good morning!” Larry said, “Nice day out there!”
“Don’t start with me Larry. You and I both know it is cold and windy out there!” Melinda enjoyed the banter.
“Alright, just give me some coffee then.” Larry conceded.
“That’s more like it, Larry. That’s the spirit.” Melinda happy with the results.
Larry did his best, which wasn’t that great,  not to watch her as she walked back to the counter and pour his coffee.  “Where’s your little buddy?”  Larry tried to pretend he wasn’t paying attention to Melinda’s sophisticated beauty.  
“She’s probably beating herself senseless in the back.”
“Is she still hung up on that loser?  He better not come around here, I’ll tear him up!”
Melinda looked back at him over her glasses, handing him his coffee.
“I may be 78, but I still got it!” Larry said, showing her his karate hands.
“Why do men over in their 70’s always have to talk about how old they are?”
“Huh?!” Larry said, thoroughly confused by the change in topic.