The Secret Place

I try to swallow heaven but my gulp isn’t large enough.  So, I constantly place you on my tongue because the tongue guides the body, the heart, the mind. I want to taste and see that the Lord is good.

And the wind tosses my hair around my face as I lean in to you, constantly grasping for the more of you.  Because you are mysterious, I cover my eyes.  Because you are wonderful, I lift up my feet and run to that place where you and I used to meet- when I was a pigtailed child chasing the wind and the butterflies and the woods.  I would sit in our secret place and laugh while you taught me secrets of the universe.

Me, a child.

You, the creator.

I swallow, always swallow tasting the sweetness of a good God in the wind.

In this secret place I am carefree.  I don’t think of bills or periods or my weight or genocide or the national debt.  In this place I am not tired.

I can simply “be” with the I AM because he told me to come just as I am.

I gulp heaven, “More of you, God!  More of you, God!”

I am a child, truly.

The wisdom of man is foolishness to God.  My adult-self uttering speech that sounds so eloquent and veracious is like a child playing “house.”

I will remember that next time, I tell myself.

And we use our plastic cups and fake plates to serve our sisters the fake chicken and peas and carrots and water.  No sustenance.  We’re just pretending, but He is beckoning us, the children, to the secret place where we gulp the true life-giving food.

Then you give me a taste of your grace and I swallow, shallowly at first.  I will do it again and again until I remember you; A memory, like a monument, a taste.  I still cry “More of you!” as I learn to swallow deeply.