Manger

Dearly Beloved, Grace and Peace to you.                     In rough-edged wind, edge of town, end of day, light all used up, a shed waits, still, dust settling, shadows bedding down for the night, doors resting on their hinges. You want to say it's empty, but it's full— full of silence, of longing, of waiting, full of God's hopes, full of space for a birthing.

The passion that makes worlds is still dreaming. This stable is made of that, the manger carved, through eons, of your deepest ache, this empty space, this womb, created by your soul, unerring, leaning toward that realm.

Enlarge its longing in you. Breathe in. Let the cupped hands of the manger hold your heart open with God's deepest desires. The angel song that sounds like sorrow but feels like joy, the harmony of longing and confidence, swells in the waiting silence, wondering.

Warm wind blows in through the window.

                    Deep Blessings, Pastor Steve

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