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.