Today I sit at a table with friends who are moving to the other side of this globe, and I sit and reel. At this coffee shop, they are known. People walk by and put hands on their shoulders, to touch the body, the unreal glory of tents.
They move away, and yet spirit makes them just as close. This body, this tapestry with the Lover, the Weaver.
We are close and we pray. There are no goodbyes. All, so much, is unknown, the brokenness up ahead, the scales falling off the scales of all our eyes.
How much have we said lately that it’s worth it, the gospel? That there’s nothing we can do.
Coffee cups and plastic lids and Mac laptops. Somewhat hipster academic hippy edges, our winter scarves, the fox and owl trends all around. They hold hands and make eyes, like a big wave is coming, and they’re about to ride. I see the elder’s eyes glisten, proud. Ah, I know the curtain is split. We are alive in eternity, in this room with GOD, sometimes like a fed-flower in the crack of a rock. We are more than stars and sand.
We sit here across the world and one with those in secret churches, the lonely pleading in special-needs cribs. We are one with the jailed, the worked-down-to-the-bone, out on the sands of deserts and in the highlands with Nomads and their livestock. We cry, all of us, hush the rocks.
They go, and all is grace. Nothing they can do. We only know what we’ve been told. So they go, and we send. Hallelujah.
Say a prayer for my friends?
And also see in my sidebar? That playlist of music? You can hear their hearts there. Gorgeous. Check it out!