Tuesday, November 24, 2015

eden undone




The world is a mass of crazy; down the road, around the world, within each of our own hearts, and we all sorrow again together for the sufferings of our brothers and sisters at the hands of evil trying to stifle the light.  The shootings, bombings, beheadings; these are words I can stand only to glance over, knowing there are a host of other words involving smaller deaths of heart, and body, and emotion that to speak aloud tonight would feel like the precipice of some grief I am uncertain I could recover from falling off.  

Over it all and through it all stands the Designer, a feeling-loving God who sorrows over the broken messes we have created.  A God who loves justice and is not okay with our messes, the big messes and the small messes, a Father who longs to gather each child and mother and father and grandmother as a hen gathers her chicks and we run away determined and mad for... what?  Self?  Gain?  Control?  Comfort?

He soothes and quiets and gathers and rejoices over us again, then again again. For the joy set before Him, for the prize he was gaining - US - he endured the cross of shame and suffering.  He squeezed Himself, that infinite and all-powerful Word, into the skin and bones and veins of His creation, not just in allegory but in reality and lived all the demands of the righteousness we scorn and fail. This for you, for me.  For us together.  An insurrection turned upside down and inside out, our souls are pieced back together, the atrocious rending of Eden undone and the sutures on our broken hearts closing. "While we were yet sinners {at enmity with Him}, Christ died for us."

And the earth spins and the sun shines and clouds rain.  The leaves drift slowly from the trees and settle into ponds and musty sweet decomposition scents the wet air, a fragrance from my younger days that I don't often find here.  Crabapples cling tenuously to branches bare and I gather mittens and hats on my lap and carry them like mothers everywhere carry the burdens of their children.  I watch quiet, content to intrude only when necessary because the world of imagination and dreams needs no adult intervention.  That world His children are returning to, the one where the Fairy Tale is True and the King will come riding on a white horse and put all things right and indeed, we know in an unseen way that He is doing that even now.  


  1. ...that He is doing that even now.

    Amen and amen.

    Lost in your writing this morning over coffee and thank you for your poetic way with words. :)

    Happy Thanksgiving, my friend across the mountains. There is snow in the foothills all around me this morning. Beautiful!
    xo Lisa