divide

…Both I enjoy. Both I want to keep. Both are me—but not together. I sing from my heart in both spaces but there’s always a divide. Why? And the divide comes down to color and the divide is found in worship. Yet I’m fully aware that anything that has to do with God can’t afford to be divided—this house will fall.

I desperately want to live with just one face. It’s simpler and I enjoy attempting to be a minimalist. But more than that, I enjoy honesty—the endless river that I’m afraid to drink from. Will someone mock my cup? Will I get the river mixed up with the stream? Is this the right time to drink?

It’s a strange moment in life, a moment that necessitates both action and quiet contemplation, both prayer and faith steps. I step carefully. I pray desperately. I act not because I want to but because I must. I rest, quietly, hoping nothing will disturb this precious time. Because there’s never enough time and the hour is always late.

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