“Blessed are the merciful,
for they will be shown mercy.” (Matthew 5:7)
I remember
Lately, that’s how things have been. Remembering what? Life. You know: the good, the bad, the acclaim and the moments that make you blush as you hope that you’re the only one that remembers. As I tie together half images and mere residues of what I think really happened, drop by drop, little details trickle down into my present mind’s eye: cold mornings on the playground, playing football on concrete, stomping around in Arizona’s high desert, scraping myself on the stone streets of Bolivia, the dust of Mexico getting in my eyes and nose, and the sunset being shoved down by the twilight’s scandalous partnership with the Navajo mesas. Twisting and turning, this dust of my very existence rests on a picnic bench in the mountains, where I would squint my eyes to somehow get a better glimpse of the stars that I couldn’t keep track of the night before. In the dry mountain air my mind would get lost in trying to grasp with simple words the revelation that the universe spinning Creator God was my friend. I’d talk, and sometime would hear something whispered back; but mostly I just talked.
Now
Living on the other side of the continent, the sky has been engulfed by trees, the dryness has been engulfed by humidity, but all in all my wonder is still there. As I prepare my heart for marriage, now a mere 22 days away, I still wonder. Don’t get me wrong, the wondering will never stop, it will last a lifetime. Now I get to wonder with another. My tiptoeing through the mysteries of God is made for two; because maybe I’ve gotten as far as I can alone, and maybe if we tread heavy enough others will follow us.
That tomorrow
Maybe we’ll have children who will shiver on the playground. Maybe they’ll learn to stomp in the desert, or wherever they are…regardless, I hope I’ll teach them to stomp real good. Hard enough to make their feet hurt, because those will be the only fleshy feet that they’ll ever have. Now the scrapes and bruises in other lands are made for two, and maybe (just maybe)I’ll see the battle between the sun and the horizon take place on Navajo soil again. This time not as one but as two. Regardless, I’ll have a better chance at counting the stars now with another set of eyes.
Falls at the feet
My feet aren’t my feet. My feet are God’s because I gave them to Him from the get go. I gave them to Him because they were His to begin with. Because they are His I end up in wierd places like in the court of the poor, depressed, the prisoner and the helpless. And when I end up there I know it wasn’t by mistake, because while my feet are prone to wandering, His aren’t. And very often these feet of mine lead me to Him, and when I get there I fall at His feet. It’s His mercy that takes me there. When I’m there I remember that my feet aren’t my feet. Now there are two sets of feet to fall at the feet of Him.
Of mercy
“Always, mercy lead. Through the dark and through the hot sun. Lead us off of the cliff of our societies humanistic dependency, forever into the court of Your throne. Break our hands in Your mercy, that we would be ever dependant on You in every facet of our lives. Lead our feet to the weak, the poor and the crying out for more. Take our dusty little feet as we watch and wait for You. Take our feet, shod them with the message “Our God reigns!” Though these feet will be dusty and road worn by the end, make them beautiful. Amen.”