A figuring out of sorts.

Don't try to explain it.

You just can't.

Don't attempt to wrap this thing in human confines.

It is pain and joy all in one and then neither.

It is that feeling that you get when you are standing alone in the doorway or when you find yourself face to face with the one who holds the fullness of your attention.
It is when the words that are attempting to escape your mind and heart get trapped in the depths of your stomach.
It is the reason that you find yourself alone and crying in your room with thoughts of great depth plaguing your fickle mind.
It's the feeling of hope that invades your confines in the presence of death.
And it is the reality of the life ending moments that we so strongly try to waver from.

But it is also the reason for bravery and for strength.
It is the reason for rain and waves.
It is the reason for sun and wind.
It is the reason for life and death.

So let love fill all things, near and far.
Let it be that which we cling to in all situations and landscapes.
Let us reach out to it as though it was our last hope.

And then, when all else has fallen, let us realize that it is our only hope.

Love. Love. Love.

A revolution that was still.

The soil is being tilled beneath us.
Within us.
Among us.

In that soil lies a seed of the purest revolution.
A revolution not of protests.
A revolution not of picketing.
A revolution not of raised voices.

One day this seed grew into a seedling.
It endured the harsh winds of northern lands.
It endured the flooding rains from above.
It endured the scorching of the sun.

And still, quietly, this seedling of revolution continued to grow and stretch out into the world.
And now this seedling has hardened its branches and trunk and is standing firmly as what it was created to be.

And now stands an Oak of revolution amongst us here in this day.
An Oak that supports the children of the land.
An Oak that helps the elderly to stand straight.
An Oak that shades the workers of the harvest.

And now the revolution takes on new definitions.
A revolution of quiet love.
A revolution of still waters.
A revolution of blessed conversations.

A revolution that is held by the great Oak that stands firmly by the cool waters of the brook.

This was a revolution that was still.

Toward Sunlit Treetops

Who am I?

I am Thomas.

I am Judas.

I speak with the forked tongue of a serpent about the greatness of God and pretend like he doesn't know.
I use a mouth full of filth to gain acceptance from others and then use it again to profess the gospel.
I use my doubt as an excuse for my weakness and that as an excuse for my fear.

But even with all of these things wrapping up this frail body, the helper still comes to me at night.
When all have gone and my heart is at the door I find myself prostrate once again.
And it is here that I go once again to the forest of full wells and fruit laden trees.

And so on and so on does this twisted fern grow. Growing on grace it would seem. Toward sunlit treetops.

Who am I?

I am forgiven.

I am a child of Grace.

I am the fern that grows up from a great vine. Up toward the sunlit treetops.