Tweed…


No more exuberant greeting, freshly shaved face, or tender hug.

No more fist bump as he passed our pew after communion.

I never realized how much he did for me.

And now he’s gone.

What do I do with that?

He’s gone, and dad’s gone.

The tweed gentlemen…patriotic, honorable, kind.

After dad, his presence comforted.

When I hugged him, my cheek brushed his sportcoat, his cologne a reminder of  good and of memories. And he always kissed and patted.

Did he know he served my heart? Did he know his kindness was precious?

I won’t again walk into church without remembering him.

The tweed gentlemen aren’t here.

but are There…

Comfort.

 

 

Chased. Captured by Grace

” And by Your grace I’m made what I’m not. My unrelenting, ever creating, my ever chasing God. ”

It only happens when I’m captured.

I wait to write. Until I can’t wait any longer.

Because it has to be authentic. Artificial has no place here.

I heard it this morning.  Grace in the showering, hair and toothpaste. Grace in the making of bed…

The music captures, his voice and lyrics.  “At the well, I heard You call my name”.

Calling me by name.  Grace

“I drew You water but You drew me further”

Can it be?  He chases?  He redeems?

Being made into what I’m not.

This I know for sure.

Listen.