What is this unfolding, this slow-
going unraveling of gift held
in hands open
to the wonder and enchantment of it all?
What is this growing, this rare
showing, like blossoming
of purple spotted forests
by roadsides grown weary with winter months?
Seasons affected, routinely disordered
by playful disturbance of divine glee
weaving through limbs with
sharpened shards of mirrored light,
cutting dark spaces, interlacing creation,
commanding life with whimsical delight.
What is this breaking, this hopeful
re-making, shifting stones, addressing dry bones,
dizzying me with blessings,
intercepting my grieving
and raising the dead all around me?
~Enuma Okoro “Morning Reflections”
As our region prepares for two wind and rain storms over the next three days, I realize how seldom we are compelled to face a power far greater than ourselves. We must ride it out, hoping the electricity stays on and the roof with it.
As invincible as we think we are, we need reminding we are mere dust, ready to blow away. The immense power of the breath of God, whether typhoon, cyclone, tornado, or hurricane, or through the gentle filling of newborn lungs or the shriveled emptied lungs of the resurrected dead, will rescue us from our broken shards of self.
This unfolding, this growing, is restoration of our imperfect reflection of His image.