In that hope I felt seen, I felt understood, I felt loved, and I felt forgiven. At last, at long, long last I remembered what it felt like to have a hope in Christ. To be recognized as imperfect, but loved so perfectly. To be taken in with all my flaws but to be given the atonement so flawlessly. To be recognized in my unbelief and doubt but to be compensated for my lack with an overflowing faith.
“But no matter where the pumpkin rests, the farmer will always love it best
As a bit of Sunshine captured in shell of Gold or orange and tended well.”
“That’s how death is. We close the casket. We fold the flag. We make that last radio call. We weep, we breathe deep, and we walk away from the dead back to those who still live. And each step kills something inside us because Ben should still be here. Right here walking beside us.”
My spirit
Quiet in the cacophony
Of the birth, decay, and growth
Of being.
The song that perched within my soul
And sang from branches high
Has flown to trees on higher peaks
And left my heart behind.
“The worshipped has become
The pilgrim; straining, burning, dying,
For a chance to change
What is written in the stars.”
We don’t have the luxury of proclaiming “not MY problem”, “not MY President”, “not MY America”. Like it or not, this is OUR America and the blame for our division lies at all of our feet.
“I had no idea how emotional existing in that “moment” would be. Everything I am was right there with me in that space. I was wrapped up in wondering whether or not I could keep going, if I could keep my promise to myself to cross the finish line…”