As she held my face I knelt down beside her and kissed her hands now moistened by my tears.
Our familiar language of Jesus as Savior seems to be growing cliché in many circles of wanderers.
Perhaps at the root of our longing is simply poor discernment of the needs of our own soul.
Ineffable One, there is a haze of wanton disregard fogging the window to my soul; a fog of discontent that swirls around my deepest knowing; an arrogant knowing where, in it’s place, I need unknowing. Holy One, relieve me of foolish trust in my ability to live in perfection. Let loose the hounds of irreducible…
There is a state of being available to all persons everywhere that is readily found in that which most thrills the soul.
Music, writing, and poetry have always been the primary means by which I engage the Holy. More correctly, it is God’s way of assuring access to me, to my deepest parts. Perhaps it is the same for you?