The manner in which we go matters, dearly,
And there is a special grace in going together Through the mire and meadows of humility, Embracing our strength and our fragility. There is a meter in the music we run to, Even in its variances there is a quality true And unchanging, which will inform our route, Our pacing for that present passing time. Time transitions, so we must stay attuned And watchful. Running in a pack prompts attack From that divisive mindset, dark comparison, So we must be smart and diligent in our care For one another. Honor as sister and brother Learning to be dependable co-runners Who recognize each other’s pains and walk Without guilt-tripping and talk with honesty. On the path to being made perfect we none Of us have yet achieved the goal so our role Is to be genuine in our need and unbelief, To allow ourselves to be brought into the tent Of the medic who has run, is running, will run This race through and who knows completely Our insufficiency and so draws us to himself Through one another so he may bind up Our wounds and renew our road-weary spirits As only the medic-creator can: with fullness. Oh this medic is attentive, gracious, unafraid Of our lack and brokenness for he can mend Muscle and heart string and soul and his hope Is that we will invite him to, so we may grasp His hand as we learn to run again, healing, Eyes trained ever on him, no fear of death. It is in our continually maturing dependence On him that his melody and rhythm sync our Movement with his, pulsing out hope to those We meet who share the invitation to come, Follow where he leads. We must be active In our welcome, in our encouragement, In our calling forth and seeing one another As he does. We must run in such a way. Comments are closed.
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AuthorI write to process. I write to explore. I write with the hope of sharing truth greater than my own. Archives
February 2022
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