Dearly Beloved, Grace and Peace to you. Ice on the lake, wind in the trees. Wind with winter's muscle but oddly warm, this early.
In the circle people wrestle with angels: am ill-fitting religion, the scar of abuse, a shade that still stalks in the heart. A fear, a wound, a distance, a heart seized up but willing, a longing finally named.
A warm wind blows through the room, a book with a promise uncovered like a secret pried from under the floorboards. Why has no one ever told them this?
The ice gives. Under the wind's steady breath the ice of a whole lake splits and shifts and shatters, piling on the shore. Open water, and in the little bays a million crystal chimes ring with joy, even in February, with storms yet to come, singing praise.
+ Deep Blessings, Pastor Steve
__________________ Steve Garnaas-Holmes Unfolding Light www.unfoldinglight.net
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