Stories
It is our stories that make us,
not politicians, not executives
with our stories we create our world.
Shoah, Holodomor, Killing Fields,
and hospitals, healing, wells in the desert
Crusades, inquisitions, exiles,
and communities, families, welcoming embraces
What is my story?
God speaks worlds into being
We, His image-bearers, do the same
Our stories do this.
What worlds do I create?
Stories destroy, stories rebuild,
stories wound, stories heal,
A story crucified the Prince of Peace
but a larger story still pulled Him from the grave.
How large is my story?
Empires tell their stories,
and rulers, and authorities,
but there is another story teller,
greater than they.
Who tells my story?
1 comment:
I returned from my trip to Mt. Timpanogos a few hours ago. My grandfather loved the western mountains with his core being; that is where we celebrated his remarkable life, and dispersed half of the combined ashes of him and my grandmother, who died a little less than two months apart, almost a year ago. A few months hence, we had dispersed the other half of their combined ashes into the Chesapeake Bay where my grandmother swam (and taught swimming) throughout her life.
My mind is restless. I cast in several directions and was reminded of the Emergent Church, and I remembered you. I hope you have been keeping well. Life is full-tilt for me; kids will do that to you, as can business. But I can’t stop thinking about God, Earth, and our troubles. They seem ever more pressing.
I miss seeing you around, but I would understand if you moved on from that section Blogville. Nevertheless, I would remind and reassure you that youe presence was a steady voice of reason and genuine compassion that greatly encouraged me to take the word and the circumstance of Jesus, in particular, and God, in general, more seriously. I wish that I had your clarity and commitment. I’ve prayed for you many times and I’ll pray for you again now. Good night.
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