on communion, community, and imagination
I missed church today because of sick babies. I know that you know how their sickness is literally all over me. I’m oozing garlic’s potent natural medicine. My trendy bangs part in the middle, slicked.
Sunday’s usual songs aren’t reverberating behind lunchtime conversation. I’ve missed the embraces at the back of church service – the taste of the shot-cup vine and the holy dissolving bread crumb. I’ve missed the murmurs, invisible halos landing on haggard souls, the hand-fulls of praise, the proclamations.
Now that I am learning to find my rest, I have an eternal longing to agree with the saints and have them agree over me.
God is good. God is good. His love endures. His love endures.
I am out of juice and nothing but a sunny day’s chain saw sings, but my spirit drinks to its Maker. My spirit is hungry to be housed in His risen, healed flesh, to smell like Him and not like that of a death.
Imagine Him emptied:
Take and drink Elixir Freedom.
Eat Elixir Fragrant Life.