your kingdom come

the kingdom of God…  present, even now. what does it look like?

… this place of nebulous concepts like love, justice, and mercy… i reach, a tree by flooded stream, stretch my head and crane above the rest but all i see are clouds. fluffy, white, floating. and i wonder, is this it? then i see a bird, branch in hand, and i see God’s provision: his promise to give bread and water while we search for what is more important…

within my womb, baby boy kicks. this too, the kingdom of God… for the least of these.

my mum, breathing I Love You from the black depths of another fuzzy day…. the kingdom amidst the messy.

the Bible calls it a pearl in a field of dirt. so must i abandon all dreams to dig up this pearl? how do i, a self-employed writer, strive to succeed while giving up everything? what is the balance on this precarious walk?

and when my baby arrives: how i do breathe the kingdom of God to him while changing dirty diapers? how do i reflect Light amongst the very daily duties of laundry and kitchen?

Lord, let me continue to stretch tall, tree rooted in streams of water… to bear this pearl about my neck even as i do the day-to-day.

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hands-free

he raises his arms high above his head, v-shaped… soars down the hill on his bike… like a bird, wings outstretched. i watch him turn the corner, hands-free.

behind him i’m braking the whole way… afraid of falling.

i arrive anxious where he sits elated. “did you see me?” he asks, a little boy’s smile on his face. “no hands.”

“i braked the whole time,” i reply.

“you wasted lots of free gas,” he says.

we pedal home, quiet riders of the night, and i realize why i so often feel tired. stressed. i’m gripping life’s handle-bars too tightly… God wants me to let go. to raise my hands high, and rely on free gas. trusting him to keep me safe.

tall grace

the trees reach, endless sinews of bark and lumber, tumbling upwards into the light. he tells me to notice the tall one. the one heads above the others. i do. am reminded of my sister bringing me the tallest dandelion she could find because “God told me to.” am beginning to notice a pattern. a pattern of height.

“i want you to stretch like this tree,” he says in his gold-thread whisper. “heads above the others. so tall you can almost taste heaven. i want you to search for me more than anything. and in the meantime, i will provide for all your dreams and hopes. but ironically, they won’t matter anymore, because all you’ll want is me.”

the kingdom of heaven is like this: a pearl hidden in a field… a missed coin… a lost sheep… God wants us to seek with hands and feet until we uncover this secret. this art of contentment.

and so, i stretch… begging grace to meet me where i’m at, and help me grow… that my head might scrape the heavens.