the accumulation of labyrinthian fingerprints worn into this frail little one heart by the Lover
“‘later I passed by, and when I looked at you and saw that you were old enough for love, I spread the corner of my garment over you and covered your naked body. I gave you my solemn oath and entered into a covenant with you, declares the Sovereign Lorn, and you became mine. “‘I bathed you with water and washed the blood from you and put ointments on you.’”
i would apologize for my absence, but i rather think that would be irrelevant. perhaps the more useful thing would be to write words that maybe mean something.
i’m writing from thailand and my heart is full of things, none of which i feel completely settled sharing.
so that is what i have determined to write about – my inability to write in the sense that i suppose would be desired or expected by those perhaps-maybe-maybe-not reading this.
i am overwhelmed by the weight of the honor bestowed upon me as i have been allowed to enter into the inner world of people. you see, that is it precisely – they are people. people. i cannot write of my experiences in the same neat and tidy manner that one collects stamps or snow globes or shells from the sea. i cannot subject the intricate, beautiful, ravaged, healing, pulsing lives of the people who have risked themselves, split open the curtain of their world and beckoned me enter, to the abuse of reducing them to a take-away lesson.
i do not know how to create with words an accurate representation of encounters experienced on the level of spirit. i hope this does not present itself haughtily, as though i were scorning the idea of sharing deep and mystical moments that i have determined to horde to myself. no, rather it is the smallest things, the quietest admission, the most mundane exchange, that i feel weighing heavy upon my heart.
there isn’t an easy answer. there isn’t a pretty bow wrapping up all the ugly details of sin wrecking the lives of Jesus’ beloved little ones. there isn’t an eloquent word to describe the beauty of the resilient spirit that seeps and glows and at times explodes out of the countenance of those facing heaven and hell on earth. i cannot pretend that my limited contact has had an impact worthy of a salvation-scalp-hunting-glory-story.
but Jesus. he is so beautiful.
the prisoner’s Jesus.
the prostituted’s Jesus.
the sex tourist’s Jesus.
the beggar’s Jesus.
the buddhist’s Jesus.
the taxi driver’s Jesus.
the pick-pocket’s Jesus.
the banana vendor’s Jesus.
his love is. he always is. he will never stop. he will not lower his voice to save face. he is not afraid of making us uncomfortable by the sheer ridiculousness of his passion. he is not afraid to be a reckless Lover. he is not going to be tamed because we think he ought to be. he is rather going to be wild, because that is the nature of his heart.