The wind has secrets here.
…confidently it finds me, playing tag with all its friends around my neck, ears, and lips and nose. It would make a great Lover.
It runs free in this place…not broken or detoured by buildings and bridges. If I listen just closely enough I can hear the otherwise inaudible secrets that carry Truth in their arms. The wind is so very perfect without anyone…not dependent or desiring anyone or anything save for the God that gave it Life before it ever gathered speed.
I wonder what the wind would think of me if it had eyes to see the scattered heart it races ’round? What words would it would choose to encourage me to follow that which I thankfully can never escape…that which I know to be true…that God will always be enough…That there is so much more to see and be to be inspired by in this world than the selfish rumination of what so very easily and widly races from my thoughts to my heart.
But the wind too has secrets.
It spills together the romantic I would choose everything to be made of, and the ingredients this world choose to bake with. It collides all my thoughts and shows me just how fleeting anything not of the Lord truly is…
for all that did not blow away from its resting place as the wind danced about, showed its frailty as it bent and buckled beneath nothing more than breeze.
In this place the wind announces the rain that is soon to follow. The air gently warms, ever so subtly, smelling thick and sweet with mingling campfire and misty hickory…
slowly this world swells, sways and shivers…never quickly, never loudly, never waking all that slumbers in this place.
The lake concedes to the younger faster wind, peeling back its own beauty without question…letting the wind draw ripples on its dark blue canvas.
It may be slower and less convincing, but I somehow thought to smile as I saw what the lake would always consider its quiet victory…the wind may come, darting this way and that, traversing the old blue with talent and tears on its tail, but the the depths give away the wind’s direction, it’s strategy.
And so, like two bickering brothers who will always Love another, they put on their show, never hesitating to wake one another from sleep, or give away the other’s secrets.
My toes are curled beneath my feet. I curl my toes when I am barefoot Lord… my brothers do too. A reminder that we are forever family.
I miss the peach moons and big skies the summer courts all those muggy nights here in the three months school is not bidding for my attention…a far cry from the misty woods that now stand guard over this quiet nook of the world. I like being able to hear your world moan and stretch, and bend and break…and not because I’m hovering over where I think the noise might be coming from, but because it’s within earshot, which in this place, could mean miles away.
It’s a good thing to be able to hear the sounds of this world and not be able to see where they are coming from. Allowing mystery that was always meant to be simply live out loud…not crushing and coercing through the long reach of corporation and cabs…by listening and clawing our way if necessary to wherever God sounds like He always intended to sound…it’s a special gift to give back to God…but the gift you’re given in return makes you forget the place we still somehow call home.
in these quiet moments, we remember kingdom, not calamity…creation, not caucasian, and romantic laughter, not the world’s brewed ridicule. In this place my thank you’s truly carry the sentiment.
And here comes what wind was so excited about…the tears of Kentucky start to fall. I live in Portland now, where the identity of the land is synonymous with the incessant and seemingly infamous rainfall. (laugh) Quality, not quantity…It rains so very well here Lord.
Even in this time of year it still seems like it falls having just come off fresh off the kettle…slightly warmed. The best part about the rain though is not its constancy, or its temperature…it’s how clumbsy it seems to march. I open my mouth to drink from the sky and find myself every minute or so choking from the big clunky drops that fire down at me.
It stumbles over itself like a newborn does…
indifferent to opinion, shameless,
and most importantly
We should all learn to move this way in life.
The rain is the best piece of clothing I have ever worn…it’s un-trademarked, not unsettlingly and possibly fashioned by little hands who should be only be building sand-castles and forts…it just simply is pure, and clean, and wild…like you Father.
It drives me nuts and sad when people intimate rain with forcibly being indoors. I will forever be a shameless spokesperson for the rain…it’s perfect for football, for walks, for running, for crying in and for intentionally letting yourself be touched by something God made…besides, it really is the only weather that you can puddle-stomp in, need I say more.
(good sigh)…the rain has powerful secrets. Nothing in God’s creation withholds things from us, or dare I say keeps secrets…in fact, it’s a shame they even have secrets…for they all confess to hold all their stories and power in an open hand for the sharing…the fact they hold secrets is only because we don’t stop to listen to them…
more stories untold than secrets kept.
These ready-to-be-plucked secrets are simply charming Lord. We know this world as a whole will never slow down and turn from their waysand look to the Love that is God…not even when the end is no longer nigh, but actually upon us. (Rev.9.20)
I wonder how many people are walking around with stories that have but to be asked about to be shared.
We’re a country of holidays, right…I think we should institute a National Going-to-Old-Folks-Home-day…wells of stories live in these places. I would all but approach legislation for it, save for the fact that the following week would be National Heartbreak Week, as I have little doubt that most of this world would not follow-up on their cameos in front of the withered faces they visited and promised to return to. They would instead spill false promises, like we all do. So ready to save, sweep someone off their feet, and even sacrfice ourselves for them, but we dare not stray into the power of simply showing up.
I wonder how much this world justs wants someone to listen to them. How many secrets would spill out of people, not recklessly, but romantically, searching for anyone to hug back in silence across from them.
Everyone has a masterpiece to tell of…
“everyone will be superior to at least one person in at least one thing.”
Why don’t we listen?…
To the wind, the the rain, to eachother,
to anything really?
Someone asked me tonight…”Do you think we are a busy people?” I blurted out, “Absolutely!” When I gave that much more though thought I saddened pretty quickly though…
Lord, we are busy, often self-made into such a stance, but, and this is evry important…we find and make time to do the things we want to do. Theology of Affections in its finiest. We always do what we want to do…always! I couldn´t call someone back, but I managed to make time to workout for an hour. I couldn´t find time to get that assignment done, but I did sleep in this morning. We eat, sleep, stay up, and even find ourselves with that supposed elusive “time” even as we procrastinate the moments away. We have time Lord…I have time…and I find I have much more than I think I do when I stop centering it all around me…that horribly foolish of trying to fit You and Your hopes for my day-to-day into my day-to-day.
I have time Lord…for Your people…and I am thankful for people and stories I hear of that remind me, I´m no where near as busy as some, so I´d better think twice before throwing that phrase out there. I told my friend recently we’re a bunch of worshippers running around like mad…except, we’re not mad, we’re productive, and accomplished, and appropriately and unfortunately busy.
This place, this rain of Yours…it slows everything down, slays that horrid monster called time, which never seems to be being spent, only lost. Walking plainly around in this element should be a pre-requisite to life…I think you’ll find that most people who “don’t like camping” don’t actually genuinely dislike camping, for you’d find that same person on a Jamaican cruise, or on a very Caucasian African safari…it’s what they would have to do without for a week or so that they can’t stand.
So many people have secrets in this world…some keep them shared only between them and God, while others flaunt them like they are not precious enough to even consider them treasure.
I wonder if people ever find the wind and the rain as I do…if only they would be brave enough to slow down here in this place. It’s one of those ridiculous conundrums that only makes sense when you do it. Advancing the Kingdom of God should be you slowing down to nothing but listening at times. It has to be. I love the words…
get busy and sit still…it’s one single command.
Help us Lord to realize that the very best we could ever hope to do is make the smallest of dents in this huge world of Yours…not a defeating premise, but an inspiring one…for enough dents would get this world’s attention and save You a little work when You return for us all.
The wind is back, as the rain takes a breather, retreating to victorious drizzle, falling in hanfduls like thoughtful and carelessly thrown rice at a wedding. See Dad…watch as the little handheld gifts hit your bride…my wet curls prove it. I wonder how many brides you found today with your gift that came from the rattling sky?
My raisin bran, which I continually forgot to keep eating, is now finished, and your rain already flexed for us all. How I would have loved to walk barefoot with my Lovely in this rain…but…this was our rainstorm wasn’t it. I am sorry that you find such an eager and distracted heart in me sometimes. This world´s filth and discord would be cacophonous to the choir in heaven…we would be nothing but lude banter in the rafters and outside the gates…fighting, dying, yelling and crying over nothing that has ever done the same for us. You are ever surrounded by us here Lord because You wouldn´t have it any other way. You are hung between two violins Lord…one droning out of tune, even unto death, the other played in key for the first time before it drew its last with you in mind.
Why you even put up with us is beyond me…gracefully so.
I will listen for you secrets Lord…for they are scattered everywhere this world breathes…hidden in Scotland among friend and Lovers, tucked away in dusty corners in Portland among mentors and liberals, nooked away in Fresno among saints and rebels…and even here in quiet Cadiz, Kentucky…among the hickory and Messengers.
May there be many perfect and far fewer secrets between You and us Father.