Sunday, January 8, 2012

sacred :: remembrance

i awoke with a pull. a voice in my head, whispering things undecipherable and beautiful.

He's trying to tell me something. 


because as i opened my laptop and began to read, soak myself in Lion's song and sister's words, i began to sense a pattern. again, a pull.

because rain wrote of truth in the thin places, of memorials of the sacred moments. and sarah wrote of love up to the dark, of life written out and remembered in Glory.

and i felt my soul crumble, not in the way of broken stones and shattered dreams. but in the way, the way you only understand if you've felt it before.

that crumbling of release and refreshment that comes when walls of fear and shame come tumbling down and all you can  see is the sun and Son, both shining down on your face, but One brighter than the other.

sacred spaces worth remembering etched in ancient lines across palm, 
and did you know that remembrance is synonymous with love? 
love-marked space says 
something special is here, 
something mysterious 
and worthy
 and holy.

and oh, how those words pounded tribal of brave to me. 

because memorials frighten me, sometimes. i'm apt to step into His shoes, into that place of writing in the dirt, scribbling hard with bleeding fingertips of every shame and every broken moment. somehow, i feel i must remember my shame, remember why i am unworthy. 

and then come sandal-clad feet, pierced and bleeding. and they are not the silent feet that some focus upon...

no, these are the pounding Feet that stood on the neck of Death and ground him to powder at the base of the Cross. they belong to the Gentlest Warrior who holds Hands high and cries in Lion's roar

Mine. 

and He destroys my memorial to shame. because He did not die so i would remain. oh, He died that i would rise with Him. and together we gather stones with carvings strange and markings still unfamiliar. 

grace. 
forgiven. light. 
eternity. brave. warrioress. 
Mine. 

and on this altar, i burn my rags and stand scarred and unashamed beside my memorial. i am barefoot, in the sacred place. 

He and i both. 

11 comments:

  1. i have felt this holy crumble. these words are brave and true.

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  2. mm, i know what that crumble feels like. It's a good kind of crumble, like when a cookie crumbles in your mouth ;)

    xoxo,
    Jessica

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  3. glad that these words stir you so deeply. <3

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  4. i have felt that as well...and when i am left with nothing of my own doing and no where else to turn he is there...

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  5. A soothing balm for my soul as this weekend closes.

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  6. This is powerful: "they belong to the Gentlest Warrior who holds Hands high and cries in Lion's roar

    Mine.

    and He destroys my memorial to shame. because He did not die so i would remain. oh, He died that i would rise with Him." Thank you!!

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  7. "Be still my soul and know that He is God!"
    One morning on awakening, these words flowed forth as angels sang to me. Lovely post.

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  8. how those words pounded tribal...amazing, dearest.

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  9. *sigh* I just love the soul-poetry I find here, Rachel. Yes...soul crumble. That awakening to beauty. Blessed beauty.

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I look at you and see all the ways a soul can bruise, and I wish I could sink my hands into your flesh and light lanterns along your spine so you know there's nothing but light when I see you. :: Shinji Moon