​on rainy weeks when the air is cooler,
life moves a little slower, a little lower,
as the rain makes space for grief and mud
and tucking in under coverings to wait
or continuing through weather bearing
the consequences of your choice of footwear,
for it is hard to tell when the rain will stop,
hard to guess when it will start again, and yet
the same familiar faces pass on the street,
warm coffee is that much sweeter of a treat,
we still greet one another with good morning,
mirëmënjes, because the day is still called good
by the one who made it, and goodness soaks
through into the messiness of all that is each day,
as rain soaks through the soil, gently watering,
making flowers bud and flourish joyfully,
just like faithful one said it would.

It is strange at first to consider a rock as a place of comfort, a place of rest. Rocks are ragged and heavy, a confrontation with reality, for rocks are solid and sturdy unlike clouds that change and shift all the time.

The first time someone guided me off a precipice of anxiety through the process of grounding, I began to understand the comfort found in leaning on a rock. We push and push against the world and the world taunts and then sidesteps so we fall while the rock doesn't move at all. It isn't changed. It is real and stable.

And then as we cry out in frustration we find the most amazing thing to be true: the rock has broken open of its own volition, the rock has broken open and pours forth life from its depths, living water to revive us in our weariness. This is still a mystery to me, but I begin to glimpse the beauty of the paradox of a comforting rock when I find that in Hebrew comfort means "breathe" and "repent" and in Greek it means "to call near" and in Latin it means "support" or "strengthening."
​
Speak to the rock. It's a ridiculous notion and it is a clear response to questioning. Speak to the rock. Speak to the rock and let the rock answer our fear and complaining and confusion and unbelief with its fullness and overflowing grace.

"In Albanian the word for 'relationship' means 'take and give'"
---
I would like to rush out of this need to be helped,
I would like to be able to do things myself,
Independence is enticing,
But self-sufficiency in reality is a cold cage of mirrors,
Separating me from the healing touch of friendship.

Disenchantment, disassociation from breath and skin,
From the body I live in as but one member,
From my weakness,
From my brother who is as real as I am,
Is a coldness that will kill me kindly like hypothermia.

It is warmth and uncomfortable closeness,
Unhiddenness and the friction
Of standing face to face
That sparks a fire to keep us warm together,
That reminds me I am not my own, I belong to another.

Taking his hand offered to me is a death, too,
A crucifixion of my self-righteousness,
A full surrender and a silence,
And then, in all its messiness, a birth again,
Spirit, water, and blood all testifying of newness.

Dimly I begin to see as I learn how to walk again,
As he teaches me how to name things,
How to listen to learn
The language love speaks gently to every part
Of this body he formed intentionally for his glory.

He doesn't count slowness as I do, impatiently,
Nor does he hurry past pain,
He remains
Faithful and true to the brokenhearted,
With his grave-clothes binding up their wounds.

The more I look, the more I find you in the narrow spaces, too. Like always, there's no pretense with you, for your vision's never blurred by anything untrue. You understand crowded places and quiet places, alleys and in-betweens; you understand being squeezed; you understand the safety of being hidden in the shadow of loving wings.
​
Yes, God of the mountains, God of the seas, you are just as present in these city streets, for you're an architect and builder, too. You know all about tearing things down and creating something new; your wisdom is woven into every firm foundation; and you love the people living and breathing here, too. So yes, of course you're near in the narrow spaces: You're the God of transitions, kind enough to walk with us through.

"put yourself out there"

​how did acquaintances become friends,
then friends transform into family?
how did this happen before?
oh, yes: by letting them see the mess of me,
and by sharing in joy unashamedly as well.
voiced needs met with honesty and truth in love
are the opening, the softening of heart-soil,
so that it may be used for planting seeds,
and yet, it doesn't always work this seamlessly,
sometimes we miss each other, still i trust
there is a time for everything:
a time to break down, and a time to build up,
a time to weep, and a time to laugh,
a time to mourn, and a time to dance.

​the joy is in each step
because there's not a breath,
not an ounce of sweat,
with which you're not familiar.
you walked where you went, too.

​maybe the hardest thing is to let yourself be held
and maybe it is ok to show weakness
maybe courage is growing slowly on purpose
and maybe grace is sufficient after all

​My heart's on the other side of the world,
And my heart's right here, too.
I understand more when Paul says,
"How I long for you." I understand more now.
I understand more now, and I'm glad I do,
Because love grows, it doesn't run out,
Like the new wine at the wedding
That was better than the first,
Like the oil of anointing,
Like the river Ezekiel stepped in
Deeper and deeper,
Love keeps flowing.
And it's never wasted.
Every drop poured out is gain.
Love is never wasted,
It was made to give itself away.

​home is a dwelling place
where i can take my shoes off
home is a face to face conversation
unhindered by performance
where we can give and receive
vulnerably and graciously
home is a deeper reality than the surface of things
it is the intertwining of hope into the fabric
of our nature
home is a resting place
home is a space of new birth
home is life at last and forever

​i don't want to forget what i look like
so i will keep looking at you,
join my attention to yours and follow
where you look to learn what matters
most to you and how you define things.
the more i meet your gaze the more i remember
who you are and who you have always been:
holy, compassionate, gentle, patient,
present and unafraid to be all my strength.
my fears fall off when i look at you, too,
some shed easily like an eyelash,
some have deeper roots and you promise
you carried them all to their death already,
for you have new wineskins for me to live in with you.
your eyes, messiah, are a wonder to behold,
young and old, blue hot and yellow-orange warm,
clear and perfectly steady, your gaze
reminds me that you are love everlasting,
you always have been, you always will be.