I'm stealing some words today. They're my words, entrusted a handful of weeks ago to my closest friend in an email. Somehow that description doesn't work. It's too light. But it's late and my mind is buzzing with peace, if that could even be rendered as sense.
Tonight I saw my brokenness laid out more honestly than it ever has been before.
But someone was willing to accept it.
So I don't have many words that are original for you today, because all my emotion has resigned itself to rest.
Today I get to see a number of people whom I love very much, including a group of friends, a tribe, who have insisted on celebrating my birthday tonight. So, with all that goodness, I need to slip into the quiet and share something already written, but something that stirs me still.
I wrote this while I was in London ...
The theater district at night. A taxi for a tenner, swirling past this place. Laughter. People everywhere. Beautiful. People are beautiful with stories that I will never know. But I can write them.
The lights erupt across the city in defiance of the darkness.
I wonder at the elaboration of God's foreknowledge, that we would one day make light to ignite our cities even in darkness, and would deny Him as Creator and yet still think it a secular miracle to produce time and again what the first of creation was.
Broken people still expect the light to carry them through in the things they need, except for those things they wish to hide, because they know somehow that it's wrong. But they all come into the light to eat, to listen, to be. There is little being in darkness. And people who are not used to being are drawn to people who are.
We're all aching for home.
A note here, to you my dear readers. Thank you for journeying on with me. It has meant more than I know how to say.