This morning, I wish I was a poet.
I’m sitting in the middle of an experience that’s hard to describe, and yet, it couldn’t be simpler. To put it into words seems ridiculous.
It reminds me of the day my first child was born.
It’s trying to turn a key in a lock in a door for over 30 years, and suddenly there’s a click, and the doorknob is freed.
It’s realizing the full weight of your own foolishness, and shaking it off like an old, well-loved, but too long worn shirt.
It’s realizing that God knew exactly what He was up to when He made a human being.
It’s mystery begetting mystery, and being overwhelmed with gratitude that you don’t control much of anything.
It’s realizing that all the stuff you thought you were…you’re not.
It’s free-fall into freedom.
It’s realizing that like the Apostle John explained about the Christ (John’s Gospel, Chapter 13)…you come from God, and you’re on your way back. What else in the world is there to do but serve?
It’s realizing that when God created humans “in his image”, he didn’t leave out the “I am” part.
It’s detachment, like I’ve read about for years, but in experience, is nothing like what I thought those writings meant.
It’s a future opening like a heretofore unseen flower, petals in colors and textures I’d didn’t know were possible.
It’s gut-laughter in the middle of the night, connected to the long ache that’s always been there, but that is just now eased into friendly hope.
It’s wondering if you’ve lost your mind, but the coherence is too clear and sharp, like bright stars in dark, cold, midnight country sky.
It’s just an idea, a collision of thoughts, and an understanding that gives up all pretense of understanding.
It’s finding that faith, indeed, is what justifies life, and that the faith you thought you were on your way to losing has been powering up deep in the hidden places to await it’s appointed emergence.
It’s realizing that indeed, “All is well.”
It’s weeping for love unrecognized and unknown.
It’s running toward home, where love and welcome waits, but it’s new, it’s surprising, and it’s enough.
It’s now, it’s here, it’s presence.
It’s also beyond words. So enough.
A glimpse into Pascal’s fire?