Smothered by our blanket statements so grand and unnuanced we are blinded, but particulars from this distance dodge about like the dust hanging in the air and are equally as hard to catch and know up close. Variables, circumstance, history, future - seeking to form an ethos without an objective truth is to spin and spin and spin and pin the tail on something arbitrary, or at least incomplete. A party game without a winner, with spectators chuckling nervously at the failed attempts, perhaps uncertain they will be able to stumble any closer to the objective, but boasting that their aim is more true. Dizzy. Buzzing. Busy. Shouting hoarsely these coarse things as if they were not made of the same hate the shouter claims to decry. Why is it like this? Or why is this how it appears in this all-seeing, biased biased screen of scrolling, trolling news. It is abuse - to peace of mind and to good thought and to honest, personable conversation. Is this how to process now: In screams and slapdash justice without a beat to listen or extend grace? Without a care for the soul behind the face? What are we? What are we here in this place?

Days, moments, years take on a mixture of hues, but this through-line keeps its color. This through-line anchors me in peace, when I will look to it, recognize it, believe it. So often I run in scattered ways, scrambling to catch a breeze, not listening to the constant melody, the rhythm that can truly hold me, the rhythm that knows me. Selves take form in situations; I flutter and dash, but in some stillness, in some loving action, in some choice to listen, there is stability, growth, genuine childlike faith.

- - -

You don’t feel solid, whole - you think because there is room
​for growth you do not have all you need now. You have been sheltered, but you don’t fully trust Me. You don’t know how to balance faith with how overwhelming it all feels. But you do know Me. You do know My heart for people, My heart for you. You have sat in My presence and met My eyes and felt My sincere love, grief, patience, joy, humility. It is much. I Am complete. You don’t have to do everything.


I see you completely.
I see you completely.
I see you completely.
I want you to trust Me out of loving obedience.
I want to spend time with you.
I don’t want to be a passive checklist item in your day - a phone a friend,
I want to live life with you.
I want to be your center, the first person you run to with everything.
I Am your encourager, comforter, counselor, friend, Lord.
I want you to recognize and walk in My stability.
My humble peace is for you, for My kingdom.

I build my own pigsty and wallow.
But, daughter, there is Kingdom work to do.
I wrap myself up in deflective material.
But, daughter, your heart is for feeling.
I swallow my tongue and hush up.
But, daughter, your words are for testimony.

Daughter, I continually choose you.
Daughter, I continually love you.
Daughter, I continually call you Mine.

Daughter, I know your wounds and heartache and pain.
Daughter, I am with you in your dark places, with you, and calling you into My light.
Daughter, I tenderly care for your heart.

Father, I will trust You.
Father, I will believe Your love.
Father, I will listen to and obey You.
Because, Father, You are totally good.

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.