Spirit to spirit to spirit

Knocking, I hear the barking of his dogs inside. Through the pain of glass in the door I see his familiar shape standing in the kitchen. Face down the hallway in my direction he smiles, permitting me to open and enter at my own risk. 

I wait in the entrance for him to quiet and corral the Pulis like I know only he can. 

I look him over... inside-out striped thermal top over t-shirt, sweat pants, socks and rubber shoes.
This is the first time I've seen him without a skull cap since his accident. 
I scan for scars of a head trauma that took his life last year, twice.  
But the only visible marks left are on the inside shining out. The kind of mark only our Creator and Healer can make. 

I remember being in his home for the first time. Taking care of the dogs while he was away, running. I remember God telling me to lay and pray. I cried joy as His love for this friend of mine washed over me... and the layers of intercession filled with whispers of a coming change through healing and refinement.

He turns to the table and returns with a gift in hand. A necklace he bought me from the top of a mountain someplace in Arizona. 
Not safe in a box. We are not either one of us tucked safely in boxes. 
Just fingers holding delicate strands of love and offerings from spirit to spirit to Spirit. 
Father God shines, lighting up the room.

And I look him over again... a man refining, healing. Changed.

My path has not been crossed so many times in so many ways by another. Not any ordinary coincidental happening. This is most definitely an ordained divinely sewn tapestry. 

We talk. Stirring the waters of God within, wading in the mainstream of His will for His children.

And I pray that his real scar, like mine -a religion that tells us we cannot come- will draw him to the scar of the One; a nail shaped covenant that bids us all, come.

We stand together in his living room. 
On the outside we are surrounded by gift boxes. On the inside there lay boxes we've crawled out of, wounded, to face the Maker - and we wait for the celebration of a God who cradled Himself a Son in flesh and manger - A God Who promises to cradle us and clear our path to wholeness and forever. 

The Christmas Gift in Christ is again extended, and I savor deep the Truth that God holds us in his fingers right now. 
Right where we are. 
Just as we are. 
Broken and healed, fallen and rising, hated and still finding love in what's left.
And to Him, through Him, because of Him we are... just right.


  1. you have gathered such beauty from broken
    and reflect it back to Him.
    your words are pregnant and lovely.

  2. oh friend, i find such hope in your words tonight. hope, and tender love, as i look over at my own scarred husband on the couch... i fall all over again. thank you for this beautiful prose.

  3. Lora, this piece is amazing. I loe how you have given me enough info to set the scene but left so much mysterious that I want to rush out to meet you for tea (coffe's gross) and hear the rest of the story. And this

    Right where we are.
    Just as we are.
    Broken and healed, fallen and rising, hated and still finding love in what's left.
    And to Him, through Him, because of Him we are... just right.

    speaks healing to me right now. Thank you.

  4. ok that should be love ;)


Your kind words are a blessing to me. Thank you for taking the time to share your heart.