Reminder.

"When the perishable has been clothed with the imperishable, and the mortal with immortality, then the saying that is written will come true: “Death has been swallowed up in victory.”

"Where, O death, is your sting?”

“Where, O death, is your victory?

The sting of death is sin, and the power of sin is the law. But thanks be to God! He gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ." -1 Corinthians 15:54-56

Trying to feel this passage and not to just know it. Sometimes it is hard to feel as though we have the victory over death in Christ. Though it's good to remember that Jesus still cried over the death of Lazarus even when he knew that he not only had the power to raise him, but was going to do that right away. I have to remind myself that sadness is still okay (though it is no fun) and at the same time that it is not the end either.

My hands ache to be making something of value.

Sweet arias sound just beyond comprehension,

vivid colors blink in and out of focus,

you, even, at times untouchable, me too hesitant to try to reach

past doubt, past insecurity.

Still, I will remain here, rooted yet waiting

to be dug from the confines of dirt, sand

and earthworm's slimy trace against my toes.

Dear world.

Dear world, wind burnt and glum,

I am half chocked from the desire to speak without words.

Even in the rose, aqua and deep purple of perfect evening sunsets

I struggle to find the eloquence in this spinning world.

I'm sorry for this absence in myself, this awkward gait,

these wants, these airs of melancholy that hum around me,

for the way my heels stick to this crooked surface

and slide away from the loveliness of living,

the knowledge of grace, the gorgeous sight of hope.

I promise to remember when I can,

to find peace with the who, what and where of being this specific person.

to find delight in the breeze, the dusty moon, the brilliant sun

to find less of myself and more of others and other things.

I promise to at least try.

Still, at this moment, I can but breathe, wait, and etch these tired thoughts

upon a blank bit of night.