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the bird, turtledove
miswallow and crane
recognise seasons of
the Creator,
Do we?
deal FMFWRITERS
“Show me your wound, your buried tears,” Jesus was saying to Mary and Martha. “Give me your grief, watch this.”
Yesterday I saw the words ‘Faith, Hope, Love’ somewhere outside Physiotherapy for my core. Strength arrives in deep breaths.
The Therapist has kind eyes within a maroon veil that wraps a quiet face. She is 25, more?
Enroute out, the Words, ‘Faith, Hope, Love” ride up the wall into unblinking skylight. A blonde teen in wheelchair ploughs through the aisle, we exchange a grin. I want to say nice things to everyone, but today my spirit is quiet.
Here’s the Deal:
He says, show me where you bury your thoughts, your realities. Give me the door to your tombstone. Don’t be afraid of the stench of a dead thing.
My Spirit is quiet.
Faith, Hope and Love, my favorite themes remind me over and over of how Divine Strength pursues Us.
Infantry road looks good today: recent rains have brushed out trees, even the ancient banyan tree at Exit bristles with sunbirds. A Security guard tweaks his moustache with a smile. We exchange pleasantries about the terrible traffic.
Somewhere in the street, Jesus walks on. I felt Him in the street, walking with quiet people, waiting, seeking out lostness, casteism, racism…
In the Quiet of my spirit here now, I’m praying Strength for our core, as a Nation, as an Earth, as Marys and Marthas and as Lazaruses.
May the power that raised Jesus (& Lazarus dead four days) be ours today, if we’ll let Him in.
Blessed Sunday
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