Have you ever taken a picture of something knowing that your photo will never do it justice?
You shrug on the inside, take the shot despite this, and tell yourself when you look at it next, it’ll be an inside joke. It will have rusted to something nowhere near as lovely as it was.
Yeah, this was the opposite of that.
I just eavesdropped on a man reading a letter to his friend on a tiny little plane, where the act of listening in can hardly be seen as inappropriate. We are seat belted co-captives for the next two hours and ten minutes. I can’t see him, but his voice carries.
What kind of girl leverages her lifestyle for the sake of her family and forces an oath from reputable men? The kind who has seen the underbelly of her city, and slept with it. She wants real. She thinks she is seeing it and she wants to be sure. Can she believe the rumors of a God like this who defends his people and goes before them himself?
I’m with Rahab. I want to know. I’m standing so close I can see the finger she’s pointing to punctuate her words. Will they honor her with a promise? Will their God also reward the faith of a sinner?
It may be a mess but it’s my mess; my planner is a nearly complete record of a year of my life in bullet points, sloppily scrawled Bible verses, check marks, and tracked goals. Wire-bound between two tattered covers.
Because it exists on the outside of me, I don’t have to wonder why my sore spots still sting, or wait for Facebook to send me Timehop reminders. I know what happened.
What about you? Do you know what happened to you in 2016?
There’s a cluster of things I feel holy about which are totally earthy and wholly temporary – except that they speak truths to me about immeasurable joy. Baking is on my short list. Granola making stirs up stories which waft through the kitchen like steaming cinnamon when ever I get out the wide spongeware bowl and reach for… Continue reading talking granola : food that speaks