Come Matter Here

Come Matter Here

I am wandering through a forest,

Limbs hiding me from complexities of life;

I am safe here.

I am broken out there.

Why is it always back to this space in my mind?

This space of not seeming to belong?

I have felt this since childhood.

I wanted to read when others wanted to play.

I wanted to write and watch waves as others wanted to scream and experience vibrancy of life.

Maybe I have always been this way.

Just a bit other than,

Somewhat of an almost, but not quite.

And always, always I have been “too much” in my emotions for spaces outside the wilderness.

I take things too personal,

I cry too much,

I feel words as others feel bones.

I am overwhelmed where others seemingly function quite well.

And I wonder,

Why am I so seemingly broken for this world?

And yet, in the gift of the stillness of solitude I hear it whispered through the wind,

Carried in the crunch of leaves beneath my feet,

Brought by the flow of stream alongside me,

This is the journey of humanity:

To be flawed,

Shattered,

Crumbled,

Left out,

Proud,

I hear it sung by the birds,

Held by the roots of oak,

Embodied by flower,

This too is the journey of humanity:

To be Healed,

Loved,

Nurtured,

Pursued,

Wanted.

I see it in the sunshine breaking through the canopy,

I feel it within the moss between my toes,

I taste it like cool rainwater to my tongue,

This likewise is the journey of humanity:

To listen for understanding,

To give out of compassion,

To delight in presence,

To rest in the belovedness of God,

To serve in remembrance of One who sacrificed all for love.

And so, I am safe here in these woods,

And I am broken here.

For I am undone by my need to be both inward and outward,

In my solitude I am reminded that my almost, not quite is exactly what brings light to another.

For I cannot be that to which I am not.

And I must accept my need for more than I am.

I am broken and I am made whole by God.

I wish so deeply to stay, to remain here in this hallowed space, this sacred ground,

Yet here I cannot remain,

For I hear the heartbeat of lives in the beyond,

Come matter here.

It is not location that defines significance and value, it is the knowing of our innermost self,

It is stepping into community vulnerably with that self that breaths flame to fire of soul purpose.

I walk the path back towards the chaos of my life with others,

And I remind myself,

Perfection is only an illusion,

Humanity is the tension of safe and broken.

So come matter here.

The Flavor of Hope

Bitterness is quite easy to taste.

It requires no extra work; straight from ground to tongue.

But delicacy, savoring, comes after the intentionality of nurture.

A touch of fresh butter simmering in a pan with a sprinkling of salt,

Attentively watching as the softening comes by the beckoning of fire.

There, within the tenderness of time and flame, comes extraordinary bursts of flavor.

Sweet.

Savory.

Well intentioned.

Purposeful.

Filled with the loving hand of grace,

Ushering forth a plate of compassion.

This is the flavor of Hope.

Sojourned.

I have sojourned to the house of darkness,

Been preserved by its ice.

I have known what it is to lie in the pool of death to the heart,

I have known a deeper pain than breaking,

A shattering,

An inability to ever be the same.

The knowing of tethered pieces torn away,

Like gazelle stripped by lion.

For I have sojourned to the house of darkness and known its pain.

Yet Behold! The Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world.

Behold the One who encamps around those who fear Him,

Behold the deliverer.

Behold the gentle King who drapes a cloak of glory over the shoulders of the shattered.

Behold, my shield of strength, goodness in the land of the living.

Behold the One who warms the ground from ice to pools of redemption.

The One who moves paralyzing fears of darkness to tender beckoning of baptismal anointing of love.

Behold, the gatherer of encouragement,

The threshold to peace.

Behold the Prince who causes streams of life to spring forth out of dry ravines.

Behold the One who sees the depravation of man within the fractured soil and sends rains of renewal.

Behold the One who breaks forth in marvelous light from the defeat of despair.

Behold the One who creates blooms from sufferings,

Creates sapphires from dust of nothingness,

Shining like sanctuary for the soul in need,

Behold the King of glory!

The One who draws us to listen and hear the still, small voice of love,

Who whispers in shadows, beckoning our hearts to behold, to gaze upon Glory itself.

In stillness, shall we feel the breath of the earth,

Awakening from its slumber of the night,

Inhaling such grace,

Exhaling calm winds rising like the sun.

I feel linked to the soil as of late,

Once sojourned to this house of darkness,

Now softening in the warmth of glory,

Preparing for the rising of the Son,

Now sojourned to the house of light.