fellowship near the edge.

Full disclosure: I dragged myself there. Before I got in the car I was slumped in a chair, curled in a ball, staring at the wall (or my phone to make the grief gaze a little less obvious to those around me). Everything is so heavy these days; my body itself is heavy, my arms sympathizing with my heavy hard and not wanting to lift to do the things.

But then we gathered

circled up by the light of the Christmas tree

and with the help of ND Wilson

we peered over the edge together

we saw each other, ourselves, and all of God’s spoken people

we saw faces, souls, lives

born to trouble as the sparks fly upward

running along wet concrete

molding souls shaping narratives

grabbing handfuls of wind and pinning them down in scrapbooks

we didn’t invent the narrative

God has been writing this story from the beginning

but we are swept up in it

we are on stage

we are making the sandcastles and facing the dragons

today

with or without His help

we move to the next level of life

even if we haven’t mastered the one we are on

What kind of characters will we be? 

the yearning we feel

is perhaps having too much to love

too much to do

with the sense that we do not have enough time for it all.

we don’t. 

we are trying to catch oiled diamonds as they rain down. 

(Try anyways.)

but if we are here to spend and be spent,

tiredness at the end of the day

is the goal!

if we pour out, we are going to grow weary and break

but manna is new every morning

we will get more (energy, life, days, even flesh.)

we can live generously because we have a generous God

in our soft-lighted room, 

side by side we peered over the edge,

hearing the sound of the dirt thrown on the coffin

and pondering the finish line

and the kindness of an ending

(it is not death to die)

Shall we die for ourselves or die for others?

The choice is now.

A closing prayer to the Author of our stories,

that He would give us our lines

and the courage to scatter the seeds

until our hands are truly empty

and we enter His rest.

May our living be grace to those behind us.

-----

To the author that inspired the discussion, a group of weary mamas in Kentucky who have been renewed by your words in 2020, enter our own stories today with our eyes up and hands ready to blister.  We echo your words right back to you:

"We will live and we will die in Christ, thankful that he placed us downstream in the river of your human grace."

Death by Living, ND Wilson, highly recommended!