What’s hard about love?

Long ago, in a faraway land…I moved from my childhood home.

Everything we owned was in our car.

We just drove away, and I looked back, out of the back window, at the road behind me.

And I remember thinking…seeing…all my roots… just dragging behind.

And I guess that’s how it is when You move.

All my pride, you know it doesn’t stand a chance at all.

Like a lion standing inside my house.  I don’t stand a chance against the way You move.

Breaking down walls, ripping up roots.

Love.   letting go.  of me.

Letting go to follow You.

Loosening the grip. Taking Your hand

Looking through the windshield at the road ahead.

Let Love lead.

Roots will follow.

 

Love moves slow

Not everything is fast.  Most things aren’t.

Most things build, block upon block, grain upon grain upon grains.

I’ve come to the conclusion that I am of the building.

I like the drops of rain that lazily drip down the tree trunk, slowly, steadily watering her roots.  I like cookies that puff up and brown as they stay in the heat. A song that begins with one voice, only later to be joined by a second. A lone cello, then his sister violins.

God is after my heart,.  The process is 53 years old.  And I’m after His.

My faith is not a fire, as much as it’s a glow.

Steady, and often slow.

Love   moves   slow