I like to think He left these here just for me |
I love to know things.
And by "things," I don't mean all things, but the important things.
The things upon which we hang the hopes of this life and what we long for here and after. The things that stitch our hearts together and keep the blood from gumming up solid in our veins.
And . . . I realize that I don't know much of these things. Not absolutely, because the things of faith and Life and holy are unknowable by their nature.
But I want to know. Oh, do I want to know.
And cannot.
So . . . what do I know? Or at least believe that I know?
I know that I am here and breathing (I didn't always).
I know that I am healed and healing and will heal, and that while I've done my part I don't have a whole lot to do with this Wholeness that's coming over me.
I know that there is a Something or Someone and that S/He is so very good, and breathes kindness.
I know that faith, as much as I want it to be born of fact, is a choice. And I choose God, and believe that He chooses me (and you), as much as I seem unable to feel it.
I know that redemption is real. I know that nothing is wasted . . . or at least, that nothing has to be.
I know that the ember glow of the sun's fire bathing the voluptuous flow of the mountains at dusk is some kind of sacred.
I know that I am Made, that we all are. I could never have imagined the sweetness of our son with the blush of his apple cheeks, much less have created him myself.
I know that death is not, cannot, be the end.
I know that love wins.
I know that a woman's value is more than her body.
I know that I am tired from tugging these uncomfortable questions around, and that's okay.
I know that it's okay to have questions, or Questions. You know the ones.
I know that God is not threatened by our questions/messes/mouths loosing such anguished lonely howls.
I know that none of us are alone. I know that you are not the only one that feels like this, or struggles with that. I know that I am not the only one, too.
I know, even if I can't feel the truth of it in my marrow, that God is not angry with me.
I know that hope is never, ever impossible.
I know that light not only shines in the darkness, but is born in it, too. That the dark is a womb, cold and uncomfortable as it might be.
I know that I want to believe, and that this is enough. I know that Someone will help me with all this unbelief.
I know that perfection is not required, but wanting to be brave is.
I know that everything is going to be okay, even if "okay" is not what we expected, not what we planned for.
I know that healing is scary, and worth it.
I know that sometimes, surrender is power. Is the ultimate power.
I know that you are loved, and Loved. So much.
I know that I don't have to know to Know. That Knowing is so much more than the ability to trip out the "right answers" on command.
I know that these chapped fingertips have healing in them still.
What do you know?
And by "things," I don't mean all things, but the important things.
The things upon which we hang the hopes of this life and what we long for here and after. The things that stitch our hearts together and keep the blood from gumming up solid in our veins.
And . . . I realize that I don't know much of these things. Not absolutely, because the things of faith and Life and holy are unknowable by their nature.
But I want to know. Oh, do I want to know.
And cannot.
So . . . what do I know? Or at least believe that I know?
I know that I am here and breathing (I didn't always).
I know that I am healed and healing and will heal, and that while I've done my part I don't have a whole lot to do with this Wholeness that's coming over me.
I know that there is a Something or Someone and that S/He is so very good, and breathes kindness.
I know that faith, as much as I want it to be born of fact, is a choice. And I choose God, and believe that He chooses me (and you), as much as I seem unable to feel it.
I know that redemption is real. I know that nothing is wasted . . . or at least, that nothing has to be.
I know that the ember glow of the sun's fire bathing the voluptuous flow of the mountains at dusk is some kind of sacred.
I know that I am Made, that we all are. I could never have imagined the sweetness of our son with the blush of his apple cheeks, much less have created him myself.
I know that death is not, cannot, be the end.
I know that love wins.
I know that a woman's value is more than her body.
I know that I am tired from tugging these uncomfortable questions around, and that's okay.
I know that it's okay to have questions, or Questions. You know the ones.
I know that God is not threatened by our questions/messes/mouths loosing such anguished lonely howls.
I know that none of us are alone. I know that you are not the only one that feels like this, or struggles with that. I know that I am not the only one, too.
I know, even if I can't feel the truth of it in my marrow, that God is not angry with me.
I know that hope is never, ever impossible.
I know that light not only shines in the darkness, but is born in it, too. That the dark is a womb, cold and uncomfortable as it might be.
I know that I want to believe, and that this is enough. I know that Someone will help me with all this unbelief.
I know that perfection is not required, but wanting to be brave is.
I know that everything is going to be okay, even if "okay" is not what we expected, not what we planned for.
I know that healing is scary, and worth it.
I know that sometimes, surrender is power. Is the ultimate power.
I know that you are loved, and Loved. So much.
I know that I don't have to know to Know. That Knowing is so much more than the ability to trip out the "right answers" on command.
I know that these chapped fingertips have healing in them still.
What do you know?