I love the gift of words.
They romp and cavort around reality, giving me a tool to see its form.
They light the crevices and illuminate the vastness of truth, stretching my mind to new horizons.
True words, words of life, bring me closer to the wonder of what is.
But what if the words do not speak truth?
What if they are used, instead, to gloss over, to obscure?
What if they dress themselves in my preferred vanities,
Seeking to control, rather than reveal?
There is a subtle power in words that I must always recognize.
If I let them fade the truth, I fade, as well,
Limiting my world to my own imaginings.
But, if I open them up to be shaped by encounter, I risk deep change.
It takes courage to seek the truth and wisdom to recognize its form.
For my fearful soul to take that risk, I need the assurance of grace.
I must trust that truth is the home of my true soul.
And I must treat words as questions, rather than answers.
I must understand that the answer is not in my words or in my understanding.
The answers I seek are too big for me.
The questions are, instead, a call
Not to fully hold the truth, but to be fully held, in truth.
There was once a rabbit
Who loved the grass in the meadow,
Loved it so very much
That she tried to eat it all.
It did not turn out very well.
… and she never noticed the rainbow.
[first photo by Chris Blakeley per cc 2.0]
[second photo by Tomi Tapio K per cc 2.0]