Permitting grace to gallop like a herd of wild horses around the periphery and into the innermost crevices of our lives is hungered for, at least in my world. Even if this horsey analogy is a bit dramatic, it kind of describes the feelings I long for, the sounds I want to hear, or the taste I hope to have on my tongue when dust is in an upheaval as Grace stampedes onto my terrain–unhindered, strong, earth-quaking, and spectacular as it vortically cradles me, while simultaneously inviting me stand in the midst of it. My imagination is needed to remember old and recreate new scenes that behold Grace.
I hope you’ll tap into your own…for now…some lyrics that note Grace sweetly…
God, let her listen
With ears to the ground.
Let voiceless approval
Turn into sound.
In death there are hidden, invisible keys
That only when swallowed
Reveal where they lead.
Life is a mess
We wake up to,
A single thread of a deeper truth.
Is this a graveyard
To bury her heart?
Or is it a garden,
Where new life will start.
Cause God, when life here ends,
We’ll beg you for more.
In temper we’ll hate you,
But please keep no score.
Life, it is a mess we wake up to,
A single thread of a deeper truth
~from a little band called Sleeping At Last, from a little town called Wheaton, IL.