We lounge around the room playing “Battle of the Sexes” and a quick round of “Hook-the-Visor-Over-the-Vacuum” and people I love occupy nearly every square inch of couch, chair and floor. We’re a hodgepodge of doctors, farmers, professionals, students, artists and children. There is a rhythm to our laughter and a visual feast for this mother’s eyes. Our lives intersect in this space for a moment in time so full of clarity that it rings out like a bell in my soul. Lives of meaningful enterprise converge to pause and celebrate our humanity– our connection–our family.
Tomorrow we will enter a house of worship and be stunned into silence as God pours out His glory and grace on men–young and old–as they stand. He beams His pleasure, “These are my men.” We walk away full. The emotional and spiritual response spills into the acts of preparing a meal. Shucking corn in the heat, silly conversation with a child, chopping greens grown by a husband–all meditative and graceful–become sacred in the glow of God’s presence.
Our gathered family shimmers in my heart. Our work in the world cultivates a covenant of sorts–each path important to the kingdom–deepened as we share our history in the context of our ongoing lives. Broad avenues for the expression of our faith open before each one–steeped in love and guided by the Spirit. Wildly different styles paint a rich landscape that converges in genuine community on this day. Mark expresses his gratitude to the Father for broken cycles of pain and healing on his journey–his acknowledgment a nourishing benediction. And we feast.
