Wedding Day

I remember the day Erik died.

The first thing Jessika said to me: "Who will walk me down the aisle?"

How beautiful to imagine that Erik did, when he brought her to You.

Let Me In

I don't want to write this post. But, I have to.

I stand in front of You, and I can see the new world behind Your tail. Your tail is swinging back and forth like a contented cat, and it infuriates me because it makes me think that You don't believe that this is bad. You lay there instead with Your eyes gently opening and closing, with Your giant head turned to the side just a little. You make me think that You're not listening...that You're telling me that this is ok.

But, it's not. You know that. You sit there, with that new, different world behind Your tail. You between it and me. And Jessika's standing over there. She's waving at me, and she's waving at all the rest of us, and she's happier than she's ever been. So why can't I go there, too?

I move a little to the left, to see past Your giant head covered in hairs that move like rivers. I'm distracted by them. It's like those rivers are endless...streaming down and disappearing near Your toes. I look to see past all of that hair, but You get up a little and look right at me. Cats like to look to the side like you were doing before...pretending to look at something else when they're fully aware of everything. But no, You look straight at me and get up a little, like You're going to come after me.

But, You don't. You don't take me to where Jessika is, and You slowly lower Yourself to the ground again.

So, I move a little to the right this time. Jessika's waving so much now, and I've never seen her smile so big. But, when I move too far, too close to it, I hear a rumble in Your throat like You're ready to bite. You won't let me get there. You're keeping me out. Why are You keeping me out? Why are You keeping all of us OUT?

So, just to make You mad, because I'm mad at You, I run straight at You with tears and cries and with my claws, because if You won't let me into that world where Jessika and Eric and Heidi and Grandma and my babies are, I'll hit You. I'll hit You so hard. Let me take Your hair, and Your paws, and that gentle tail and pull as hard as I can.

But, before I get there and with an enormous roar that shakes the earth...Jessika falls to the ground and laughs because of this...You catch me. You wrap Your beastly arms around me and You catch me. And You purr until the sound is a thunderstorm in my ears. You lick me all over and hold me. I think, for a moment, that You will eat me. And suddenly, I want You to. If You eat me...there will be no more pain. Only Your sweet breath, and that's all I want. That's all I want.

But, You don't eat me, and Jessika doesn't come back over here, and You still won't let me in. I sigh. I'm mad, I'm so very mad at You.

So lick me again, while I sit here in the grass with my head on your paws. Please...cover me with Your own tears, because I know this hurts You, too.

Messenger: A Christmas Study in Luke 1:1 - 25

Let me sit with You, and please remind me of those servants from a long time ago that spoke of these great things, and the servants that saw with their own eyes Your paws in that great, to-be-remembered city we celebrate at Christmastime. At that time, when You came here, Your breath was short and quick because You were new, and Your eyes were set in a way that made Your mother love You, and want to feed You with her milk. Tell me, please, while I sit under the warmth of Your chest, this whole true story. Do not cut me with Your claws, but instead embrace me with them so that I might not be cut with anything else.

Read Luke 1:1 - 25.

Zechariah comes to You, and tends to You in obedience. His family of Aaron knows the traditions of his people, and he is a part of that. Does he enjoy this? Does he love this? Does he bring You beautiful images and sweet-smelling stuff to make You grin? Does he delight in You, the way You delight in him?

His wife, Elizabeth, she worships You and is found blameless, too, yet she cries. She hurts. She probably calls out to You, so you listen and we know You hear her. You hear Elizabeth with powerful, soft ears. You listen to cries of embarrassment . You plant the longing to hold an infant. Then, why so long? Why do You wait so long to give them a child of their own? I know women that wait now, and it kills me. You don't make a mistake in giving them the desire to give birth, to hold a baby, to raise a child of their own. So why do You wait so long? To not keep a baby is one thing, to not even make one is another. Answer this, beautiful Beast.

Zechariah comes to You. Others pray outside. Maybe they pray for Your gentle mercy. Maybe they pray that Your dangerous teeth will not snatch them away to be torn apart. But instead of that horrible nightmare, You send beautiful Gabriel, Your messenger. You know this will frighten Zechariah. Why do You do things like this? To remind us that You are a Beast? Your messenger tells Zechariah the news, but like so much of what You say, it is unbelievable. Zechariah simply isn't able to believe in John. What's in a name if the father can't believe he'll exist? We name our lost little ones, too, Lord. Do You assign these names to them? Or do You send Gabriel to give them titles: maybe regal titles reserved for those who have not lived in this world at all.

John is coming in Your story. You know him before he comes. You know him before he is conceived, before he is created, before his little baby heart begins to beat. We value the living because You roar over the lives that have yet to be created. We love Your lion heart, and we long to know what that sort of loving really feels like. Make our hearts ready. Prepare us for Your running down the hill, for Your giant leaps and bounds, for Your rolling around in what is good, and for Your shaking it all over us. It will be a sight that will frighten us, and we will scream out in the thrill that will pour out of us at the sight of You. Glorious, gorgeous You.

There will be people that will not understand what is happening to us. They will stand outside Your holy temple, and ask questions and say things like, "They have seen visions." May it be true of us. May we hear Your angel's voice giving assurance. May we be so overcome with Your beauty, and overcome with a holy fear of You, that we are unable to speak.

Elizabeth waits in seclusion, now. There are many of us that wait in fear of what's growing inside of us. We fear losing the heartbeat, and hide away from others who don't seem to be afraid of their own pregnancies. May we anticipate John, too, and look forward to Your bounding into David's birth city. May we shout at the top of our crying lungs when You are born, and say "The Lord has done this for me. In these days he has shown his favor and taken away my disgrace among the people."

Because You are real, and You are coming soon.

The Lion's Falling Words

There is a Lion that holds me. His mane is thick, and I've had to grip it so tightly sometimes. His hair is like water in my fingers, pouring down over the tops of his feet and manteling his bulging shoulders. His hair is alive, entertwining and lacing itself around the majestic features of his face. I look at him, and he makes me want to cry with a yearning. He doesn't have to say anything, and his Spirit moves within me. And yet, when his large mouth opens, and he utters a sound--a whisper that sounds like a gigantic ROAR against my heart--his Spirit dances from my fingers to my toes, and I weep at the power of it all. He is breathless to look at when he is still, and he is even more heart-breaking when he speaks.

I want to learn from him today. I might sit at his feet, and touch his giant paws. I run my fingers in the creases of his toes, and tickle them--but, do I dare? He smiles at me anyway, and licks my ear. I look at him, and I ask him to teach me something. He invites me to hear him speak, but I tell him that sometimes I am just too busy.

"Too busy for me?"

"Yes."
I lean into him. I feel guilty, but my guilt trickles away from our hill of safety, and he licks at my hands. My hands want to hold his words as they fall out of his mouth, and I eagerly grab at them as he teaches and sings to me. They are good. They are good things, and I wonder sometimes why it's so hard to sit down and listen to him when he captivates me the way he does.

Psalm 1:2