My heart was

one big purple bruise

intent on finding refuge

missteps

taken in search of finding

a compensating love—

confessing, wiser now, not such an idiot

to think that life is found

anywhere but inside the wounded heart,

healed, bathed

in the flickering light of small lamps lit

for God returning to see

how, now my heart is

a broken heart can mend and mend again, become a tent,

a patchwork of skins strung from pole to pole,

a temporary dwelling for God’s glory,

a foretaste of what is to come—

a heart can bend to that, learn to trust

in someone bigger than the one who broke it

in the first place,

forego the fear of Man,

become adept at telling a relatable story

around the fire, the gravitational centre of friends

seeking to open their hearts,

surrendering

small patches to strengthen the whole, add beauty

What latch does the wind unlock?

freedom to move, to have my being, says Monica,

courage to take the Next Step

What latent desire stirs?

to live in one place all together, under the same roof

or at least share the same front porch, she replies readily

What windswept dream comes to life?

a beautiful space where conversation is real

and speaks deeply to the soul—the Wind of his Holy Spirit

breathes life into this dream I dream

Outside the wind stirs and we are drawn by his Spirit

to open space where he would dwell

in our midst. To him we lift the latch.

The warrior spirit knows what it is

to walk upon the ridge with the feet

of a hind,

to recover

the passion for glory that covers

a multitude of sins and failures to take hold

of all God has in store for those

who fear only Him.