I float in swirling waters on a sun-drenched winter afternoon

The children’s moon high in the vault of the sky

A carrion bird flies between us

Sudden eclipse of wings

And I am struck by the sleight of hand wrought by both time and distance—

The moon is bigger than the bird but

Your mind and your eye could deceive you

—No, it is the bird that is bigger, see the way it flies directly across the path of the moon, inking it out—

Lower atmosphere

Upper atmosphere

Space

You get to

decide what is real until

Truth speaks

And none of us

dare argue

Revelation 1:12,15 KJV
[12] And I turned to see the voice that spake with me. And being turned, I saw seven golden candlesticks; [15] And his feet like unto fine brass, as if they burned in a furnace; and his voice as the sound of many waters.

I listen to Christian radio in the car, sometimes at top volume.

Recently I heard a DJ interviewing married friends who we’re discussing the “love languages” that help them navigate through life together.

This got me thinking. God is the author of all language and he has couched his relationship with his creations in terms of companionship, friendship, love, and marriage.

If we view the list above, are we able to say that we are reflecting our love for Him in these categories?

God talks back.

Time is a precious currency. He loves us so much he wants our time, and in return he gives us everything.

https://cen.acs.org/analytical-chemistry/art-&-artifacts/Statues-women-ancient-modern/100/i11

This is a true story.

She draws human figures with the raw aplomb of an untrained Basquiat—

Wild, thatched hair

Appendages filigreed with questions

She draws me, but it could be her, or any other female figure

She draws Jesus with his woven outer garment

I prefer these interpretive gestures over the photographic light of day

The beloved through the eyes of the Beloved sees us

Before, during, and after

Time will have its end

But light goes on

Forever

I know some young scholars who

Insist upon insisting that they

Are totally unable to compute or comprehend

One half of one hundred is…

One third of a hundred is…

Two thirds of two pop tarts is…divided equally

Their feigned ignorance is almost as impressive as it would be if

They did the math—

We live in a world where mothers and fathers die

Prematurely, with tangled, unanswerable questions about the hows and the whys

So take that, Universe! We don’t have to be your mathematicians!

Never really knowing

All we lose by refusing to

Face the lizards of math

Before we can

Face dragons.

One of the phrases used to describe “insomuch” was “worn down” as in insomuch is worn down from Old English or Old German..”

It is old

So old it is now uncommon,

Even rare

In is in

So is so

Much is much

To such a degree

To such an extent

In a way that is so

Much

Shaken down

Pressed down

Made to be more

To the degree or extent we

Are close to Jesus.

Univerbation….

I opened the Bible app and saw unfamiliar words. Somehow the text setting had been set to a language I don’t read or speak (Kiswahili?)

Two things struck me—the meaning of the words was behind a barrier of my ignorance. I could try to figure them out or I could change the settings back to a language I know.

In a moment, the meaning and the grace of the single verse from Psalm 23 flooded in. I write about it because the momentary detour feels important to me.

God’s anchoring promises are as true when I don’t understand as when I do. He doesn’t change, but I need to. I need to change my settings so I can see and understand.

Even in English, Psalm 23:4 is both comforting and challenging.

Valley of death?

Dear no evil?

Jesus’ anchoring presence is the only thing that matters, even when he says “wait snd pray.”

We dot the refrigerator with picture of her

You ask her ages in each

Was she six? Was she seven?

She was a ray of light

A geometric concept you would snub if you met it in a lesson at school

“No, entiendo, maestra”

A comet streaking across a jeweler’s velvet sky

Quotidian violence and loss—your inheritance of blood

I conjure up

The last time I hugged her tight

My regrets about the mythical creatures we would have to have bought tickets for on the last plane

Puddles of urine and light

A small storm in Nashville

Target was closed and we drove

Across the geography of loss we did not want or ask for

When what we want is only obtainable through the persistent, audacious supplication

Miracles, please

Dear Jesus

Dear-heart-Savior

Nothing impossible for You