Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to write like a wildflower.
And for the first time in four months I have time to do so.
And for the first time in four months I have found the freedom to do so.
Absent of obligation and exhaustion is a little space in time filled with a familiar rhythm of nostalgia.
Completely pointless or completely purposeful but assuredly genuine and cultivating.
I’d be foolish to forget these days.
I’d be wise to never see them again.
Yet the depths I’ve found in the collision of the waiting meeting fruition, and the dreams becoming reality, and the empty caverns discovered by the light of love and honesty, has been invaluably bittersweet.
What price would we pay for the treasures found in the depths?
Which path would we choose if we were aware of the cost?
Oh the mercy of God.
Oh the mercy of God to lead me, blind.
My heart is undone.
Unlocked, exposed, and susceptible; a beautiful mess.
The color, saturation, hue, and motion, a dramatic contrast to the abrupt introduction of clean lines and grayscale.
Buried beneath the shame and apologies is a vivid – brilliantly clear, colorful, dynamic, picturesque, realistic, stirring, striking – example; the story of restoration.
And it is so beautiful.
To feel so deeply, to come alive; this is the great reward.
You make me come alive.
In sorrow and suffering, in joy and peace, I have found a love and a place like no other.
And you are so good to lead me there.
You are a good, good leader to move me.
This mess is the treasure that moves yours.
Every time you look my way I see it.
Every little glance my way, I see it.
Every movement of your heart, I see it.
I’m looking through the lattice.
You know the way.
It is free and rich to move and love so deep.