Those moments when you can feel the spirit like the breath of a lion pushing you to the edge of real and tangible, panting and gasping for the supernatural more real than breath.
Those moments when you know what you know by the Divine in you, the essence of truth, the light that hasn’t faded, the rich vastness of eternity telling you what you see with your naked eye….is not all there is to know.
Those moments when prayer ascends like a baby descends. Gripping writhing agony of purpose and destiny. On behalf of another. For another. For life. For hope. For the promise that awaits in the holding.
Those moments when you find your voice is not alone. You are surrounded by a chorus of keening tears lifting you by the strength of individual sorrow shared in community. Those moments.
Those moments when your faith is something more than a declaration of creeds, it is a life moving in tandem with eternity. It is real, in those moments when you feel prayer leave your lips and kiss the face God.
And he looked up, and said, I see men as trees, walking.–Mark 8:24
Today marks one year since you took your last breath here upon this earth, you breathe another air now. Air that is full of life, light, sound and song. I wouldn’t ask you to exchange the beauty of the eternal SON for this temporal sojourn…but, I miss breathing the same air with you Dad.
I always wished that scripture for you…that your sight would be given back and your blue eyes would gleam with the testimony of healing you believed in and prayed for. Even lame, and broken, you were a tree walking. In my life you cast a shade so deep nothing of this earth could scorch my spirit as long as you were close. You were my oak-man….walking.
I miss you Dad. I feel your presence in so much of my life. I can see you, like a tree…walking. I just wish we could sit together, one more time, here on the grass, under the old oaks, and sip sweet tea and remember. To hear your stories, to tell you mine, to see you smile and shake your head, to feel that bear paw of a hand upon my shoulder, steadying the rising swells of grief, guiding me to shore with your sitting easy kind of presence that made it all ok.
It is raining today, might even snow in the high country they say…it stormed when you passed, and it is storming upon your remembrance day. I like it this way. As if heaven agrees that a tree has fallen in the forest, and it has made a sound that echoes through generations with it’s passing.
You remain, you will always remain.