Church is poetry. Poetry is life. A life well lived.
Often I meet someone and instantly a vision or word comes to me and I feel I have known that person forever. It is amazing as I ponder where the thoughts derive and how they reach me at just the moment needed. Words of encouragement or assurance the person is visible, cared for and loved. I wonder if it warms their heart as much as it warms mine?
Sometimes it is the opposite and dire news. One day, at a sleepover in the fifth grade, restless, waking every few minutes with the thought someone in the family had passed away, I told my friend I needed to go home. Yes, mother informed my great-grandfather was no longer with us as I entered the front door. (Although curious as to why I was home.) This was a first death experience and I could not look upon his body. I could not turn my thoughts towards death and whisked away the truth about life.
I was the sibling who was not afraid of people in the nursing home. I barely knew my great-grandfather but I had great affection. A deep bond of silence between us that rocks my mind still. I contemplate if our thoughts were exchanged without words, he just as eager to welcome me into his world?
Psalm 23:4 Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil,
“Has this world been so kind to you that you should leave with regret? There are better things ahead than any we leave behind.” ~ C.S. Lewis
Fear lurks around corners
in the shadows,
behind the flickering candle
stands the tallest mountain.
Stand at the grave
notice the white rose
wither and begin again.