Humility is a blue flame,
dipping into indigo
and edged in black,
It is cool water
that flows in small
ripples and puddles
at my feet.
It is balm
for a weary soul,
and a heart that
cannot find its
rhythm, that is
lost a bit,
that is chipped
a bit.
It is blue flame,
And when I stand
too close to that flame,
and the waters rise
like a torrent,
and I am battered
and beaten
in the wake of
my weakness,
compassion comes,
a grace of blessing,
lifting me from
my humiliation
to stand
near the blue flames
and cool waters;
the balm of humility,
the breath of compassion,
Whole.
I write, mostly to keep my head from exploding. It threatens to do that a lot. My blog is the pixelated version of all the voices in my head. I tend to dive into what connects me to God, my community, my family and my doubt. I do a lot of searching, not as much finding. I’m good with that. I have learned, finally, to live comfortably in the gray. I n the meantime, I wrestle with God, and my doubt and my joy. If nothing else, I've learned to make a mean cup of coffee.
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