Saturday, December 15, 2012


I'm making cinnamon bread for our neighbors today.  The house is quiet save this music, which wafts into the kitchen from the laptop.  Most of the songs are peaceful, and a few are haunting.  An apt soundtrack for the day.  I wash the dishes, my hands scrubbing hard at the dough-crusted bowl, and I think of Ann's words.  What do we do "in a world that's right busted and hemorrhaging a mess straight out the side"?   

The hemorrhage seems heavy lately, does it not?  I talk to God.  These hopes and fears, this heaviness, this longing.  I tell Him as I would tell a friend, and the water becomes lukewarm.  I remember being a freshman in high school.  The Left Behind series was at its peak, and Christian radio stations played a song with one line that always stuck: "People get ready, Jesus is coming, soon we'll be going home."  I lived in fear of the rapture.  A teensy bit afraid that I would somehow be left behind.  More afraid that Jesus would come before I was ready, before I was able to do the things I wanted to do with this one life.

Today I beg, "Oh Jesus, please come quickly."  I drop a few measuring cups into the suds.  I am no longer afraid that this life will not be long enough for all my desires.  This isn't a death wish, this is a life wish, a plea that the Light who gives life will come to conquer the sin and death once and for all.


And this - this post.  Written five years ago but meets this grief too.

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