On a table in the corner we both sit. Words are sparse, and we both know that we aren’t the same as the last time we stood in front of each other. You’re quiet; I’m quiet. Deep breaths – we sit in the weariness together.
For just a small moment, we are quiet.
Until we speak. Slowly. Surely. Heart pieces laid on the table, brokenness shared. We break bread,
and we drink
all lavished in grace.
We break and we drink, hold open hands, receiving His grace. Some days His grace is like water in a dry desert. Today is one of those days.
When I walked by him earlier that morning, he pulled me in for a hug and tucked me under his arm for what seemed but just a moment. “You look happy,” he said to me, his only words, as I walked away. Happy? Joy?
And I think, hours later — breaking bread,
lavished in grace.
Some days – maybe most days – we are broken to meet the Healer. Parched to drink in His grace.
His words still echo in my ear and I hold them close to hear them again.
Yes, I finally whisper to myself. Happy.