Crying

Dear Eugene,

It's pretty heady stuff when one's carried by the wind that is the Spirit.

I shall remember this past weekend for a long time, for always, set a stone to remember what God has done, things seen and unseen, things in full bloom and things yearning to be born, things the Lion roared and the Lamb whispered, things veiled in mystery and things out in the open.

I am in fear.  Scared fear and awed fear.  It really is too much when the Spirit moves.  It really is not nearly enough for you crave for more.

This past weekend the Spirit guided me through the gentle hands of faithful, obedient saints to learn how to love my neighbors.  People I don't understand, people I even despised by ignoring them all my life.  I was at Downtown Eastside.  I was talking to my Muslim neighbors.  I was talking to people that I knew from way back when.  I was talking to family I dine with every week.  I was talking to family I dine with every day.

Conversation after conversation.  Words spoken, tender and tentative.  The Word became flesh.

As someone long prepared for this to happen
Go firmly to the window, drink it in
Exquisite music Alexandra laughing
Your first commitments tangible again

My son said for a man I cry too much.  He must have found it especially confounding for I do many manly things and more.  Real men cry, and they cry often, I told him.

"Only the devil doesn't cry," I heard a Muslim lady reciting her poem, crying for justice, crying for peace, crying for a bit of good news in a bad news world.

Crying for God.  Ready to drink it in.

Yours, Alex

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