This weekend, Isaac ran errands with me. We made our way to Lowe's for a few bike repair tools, moseyed down to the recycling center to unload a van-full of cardboard, and swung by the local Thai joint to pick up the family dinner. It was a beautiful, mild summer evening, and the sun was washing across the town in soft pastels. Isaac noticed a tree on the side of the road. It was split down the middle and the branches on its south side were mere dead wood while the branches on the north side were green with life. "That's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen," he said. "There's a metaphor there," I said. He just nodded.
Come kingdom; kingdom come! Like the storm-split elm, its rotten heartwood half-mending, come. Come tender, resilient; as the young leaves unfurling paper thin, windows of light on now new branches singing life to skeleton brothers and to the rising of the east,
Come kingdom; kingdom come! Come unexpected! Come virile; come verdant! Spring into this next new day pregnant with possibility, with opportunity, with Praise! Come with life that reaches from unexpected to unexpected.