the air we breathe in a post-Easter universe isn't the foul air of death decay but the fragrant air of resuscitating resurrection.
i breathe deep.
and the empty lungs fill - and rise - with the wild Hope.
Lord, that in the hurt we would meet people where the beams cross, the crux of Grace... and await Resurrection.
...God says yes grieve for i grieve, but never forget Who knows about hammer & spike & wood & the rising again.
to somehow let the heart stammer it out i'm trying to believe in the father-love, in the rebuilding. that God raises beauty from impossible rubble and what's been broken apart will find new life. i believe.