Walls cast shadows.
Light gets through
the cracks of the day:
Moments of obedience.
Moments of faith.
Moments that define us.
Moments of grace.
The power of obedience
is the paradox of eternity
packed tightly into grape clusters
that burst into time and space.
Not your Precious Moments figurines
but sleep-deprived warriors
with holsters for concealer and coffee.
Quick on the draw to conceal lines on their face
and savor the passing whiff of a fresh pot percolate.
Single moms
in carpool lanes
schlepping kids
to practices, appointments,
rehearsals and games
in minivans well spent
that all smell the same—
sour milk stained into the fabric of motherhood.
Or perhaps your pasture is greener,
maybe it’s filled with rocks,
perhaps you’re low on the totem pole
hiding money in socks
or maybe you’re just misunderstood.
It makes no difference,
we’re all called to bend a knee
in order to stand,
carving out time,
craving real intimacy.
Time waits for no one
yet we seize the day.
An hour,
five minutes,
whatever we can spare
proves we’re soldiers
in God’s army,
an infantry
interlocking fingers of faith
when we pray.
Every day is a battle,
a pinprick or gushing wound
from the crossfire of bullets,
an infirmary of minutes,
bandages on the hour,
calluses on disciplined minds,
mending papercuts on hearts
that turn the page of time.