February Morning

It's raining.  

Through soft thick clouds, 

drifting on a hint of Spring.  

Snow has dissolved into puddles, 

skipped like pebbles across the ground.  

Stark, bare trees, 

stretch and yawn 

into the quiet gray morning.  

A roll of thunder, 

more promise than threat, 

hints that winter 

just might, 

be losing it's grip.

Love in Four Dimensions

...may be able to comprehend 

with all the saints

what is the length, and width,

height and depth of God's love...

Ephesians 3:18

Four. 

That's four dimensions. In a three dimensional world of rumbling carts and lowing sheep, the calling of merchants and ring of hammers, God's love is proclaimed in four dimensions.  

Time, the forth dimension. 

It's cliche today. The science fiction staple we throw around like we really understand it. Time, the enduring depth of the love, of the plan, that stretches across centuries lost in the mists beyond our grasp.  

A sudden geek moment in the middle of the sermon, wondering at the time-bound author who never knew his words were reaching me; at the tiny infant sleeping in my arms who might someday do the same.  

Never

Oh No, You never let go,

                                                                                   Matthew Redman

Another snow day, another wind chill advisory, in a winter that seems destined to cling tightly to the shivering earth for weeks to come. I set out wrapped in scarf and hood and my heavy left-over Alaska coat that seems to inspire as much entertainment as envy.  

I don't care. It's warm. It lets me out of the house and into the crisp fresh air and billowing fluff.  The streets are scraped to damp asphalt now, but the sidewalks are still barely distinguishable from the buried yards they huddle against. I stay on the deserted road until I reach the park then plunge through the drifts to the trail. 

It's marked already, with the runners of a single sled and the darting prints of a small animal. The trees are frosted in white as expected, stark and bare against the steel gray clouded sky and the silent air.

Except for one. At the top of the hill, where the children play, it stands alone. Tired, brown, crisp-wilted leaves clutch its branches in defiant pride. Against all storms and wind and cold, they won't give up, they won't let go.  

It's cold now, even through my heavy coat.  The winds are picking up and the temperature dropping.  I head back home, Matthew Redman floating through my mind on the icy walk and a down slope fall. Through storm and trial and barren branches, God will never let go.