It’s comforting, really.
When retelling and rehearing the stories
of those before us
misunderstanding death
misunderstanding loss
misunderstanding power and popularity
misunderstanding endings
misunderstanding, seeing a gardener instead of
the dead man we put all our hopes in
the dead man we put all our hurts in
the dead man we put all our
proverbial eggs in the basket of
and then watched it all end.
But the story is still the same today as it was then.
When we think the story is over
When we think we’ve held our breath as long as we can
When we think we waited till the last minute for something
to crash in and save the day….
It’s then that we give up.
It’s then that we give in.
It’s then that we unclench our jaws
and our guts
and our lungs
and our hopes
and surrender to what is coming true
whether we anticipated it or not.
and it’s only then,
like it’s only on Easter morning,
that the impossible becomes true.
All the rules change.
All bets are off.
Life is death.
Humility is power.
Poverty is wealth.
Kingdom comes. Unexpected. Unrehearsed.
And we mistake him for the gardener.
Because we know better than to think people come back to life.
Or do we.
djordan
Pine Tree Dr.
most hopeful 