Wisdom is not grey, it is not abstract, it is not a metaphor.
It is human, flesh and blood and kind and good.
It is my favorite color. I am lucky it befriended me and I will never not love it.
Lord, You saw fit that I be vulnerable to harsh and to sweet alike, as the world is both.
Regarding the world, if I permit it to do what I refuse to let You alone do Lord God,
then cover my ears,
seal my eyes,
silence my mouth,
fix my feet.
But my soul.
My soul.
Please leave it with its heightened awareness of Your life-giving voice.
Please may it with crystal clarity see the glory in what You’ve created.
Please allow its lips to speak with unending love and thankfulness.
And of its wings, they are in Your hands.
Faintest light
Paints the clouds
Pale to bright
****
Birds’ songs pure
Speak of wings
Of this I’m sure
****
Wind begins
Shifts all things
Hope it wins
That calling, that calling, that flows from that place, that place that keeps calling me home. Though I know not the way, I am guided each day “with purpose, please let yourself roam.”
That fire, that fire, that flows from that place, that place that I’ll not live without. I must fan its great flame and honor its name and from morning through night be devout.
That quiet, that quiet, that flows from that place, and speaks to me after the storm. It convicts to the heart that made a new start that hope is what best keeps blood warm.