Paul

He was always so quiet with me.

So still.

I know he was other things to other people.

But to me, he was still.

A deep breath, a calm pillar.

A picture of the God Who Listens.

He seemed to know when I needed to hear that my earrings were "cool." When I needed to know that I was noticed.

So quiet.

So still.

It is - no - it was strange to think that on another man, on a different man, his size would be intimidating. That there would or could be something about him to fear.

When everything about him made me take a deep breath. To relax.

He'd always stop, always say hello.

Once he sat and looked at every one of my nearly identical prairie pictures from an afternoon's hike. He appreciated each one of them too.

Made sure I knew he was paying attention.

There was never a question that he was paying attention.

His words on my birthday, "Happy birthday, Amy!!!" "How your servant heart shows through in all you do is such a beautiful thing to see. Serve on in the Great Kings love and know that He is pleased."

His GI Joe still sits on my office shelf. He was a welcome present, just for me.

Just for me.

These Paschal Losses

I was dead in the grave.

It all suffocates. So deep, so choking.
Too much.
And the weight of not-yet-loss nearly breaks me in two.

I was covered in sin and shame.

I heard Mercy call my name.

He rolled the stone away.

Right now, that seems far too good. There's no way to process the words other than feel them out inarticulately to their ends.
It
is
Too
much.

Emotion howls its presence, and this death-quiet weight kicks up into a nascent storm. I look down, feeling almost as if I should be able to see it, shadowed in my skin along the faint cut I couldn't quite make.

I'm alive because He lives.

It's far too real

this aching Resurrection.

Far too real.

The sorrow of my own partings takes my breath.

This I know, this I have lived. This solidity of knowing. I know him who said it. He would not lie. If he is there... come hell or high water...

Because He lives, I can face tomorrow

It's too much.

It's fear

it's loss

It's sacrifice and reunion.

And friendship.

I am unable to sort one Resurrection from the other - His from mine.

Or rather ours.

I know He holds my life, my future in His hands

Because He Lives - Matt Maher