I stand, as prophesied – long pausing
ushers us to what outpouring?
Yoked launches looming, juxtaposing
how our stories keeps unfolding.
I once saw myself leaning against a hard rock wall, achingly tipped slightly forward so my forehead would maintain contact. It was imperative that I kept that connection, no matter what. That immovable impenetrable rock eventually crumbled to dust before me. Something from deep within me was drawn up, something that gifted restoration to the mess before me. I have learned and relearned to not be afraid of constructive destruction.
Darkness is part of God’s creative intention. Out of what is dark, formless, and void comes beauty and order. Out of death comes resurrection. Death and birth are holding hands. It always was, and will be.
At this point of impending transition, I am daunted yet focussed on the good purpose to come. This has always been much greater than I, and I can only stand within it all by grace far beyond myself. It’s the hard-standing of dust and clay that we will be reformed from.