First the light.

Brooke Fraser’s got this thing right.

Or maybe she doesn’t. Maybe its nothing more than The Lord transforming smooth words into an electrocution, shaking you until you feel something.

& I’ve heard the song at least 10 times before today.
For some reason, I needed 11.

Maybe this is his gentle, hushed reminder. Keep listening.

FIRST THE LIGHT
FIRST THE LIGHT
FIRST THE LIGHT
FIRST THE LIGHT
THEN THE SOUND.

Because his voice isn’t always introducing the next song, next up were going to slow it down with a classic… some Nora Grey. He’s not always giving the whole narration prior to the scene. This takes place in Atlanta, Georgia. Your grandfather has finally lost his battle with colon cancer, & your best friend has found a replacement for you. Here you are, alone & isolated. Here is where you feel numb & yet forced into making huge decisions towards forever. No, the scene starts, whether he has prepared you or hinted at this or not. Here we are, here is today, & the only way to go is forward.

Last winter was rough, to say the least. It seemed as though over a night, my dad’s feet had swelled up to the size of big foot slippers. He was in the kind of pain that makes a grown man cry, the kind that leaves one stranded on the couch in the dark room, depressed in isolation & aggravated by the tiniest of things.

It was hard to watch him, as my mom took him from hospital to hospital, doctor to doctor prescribing him false hopes, never so much to dull the pain. This blank space had swollen his feet to the point his shoes no longer fit, somedays leaving him to ask my mother to drive him to work, silently wondering God’s good plan through this all.

& I remember the night I walked into the dark living room, flickering with the light from the television. I remember the small faith that moved me towards the foot of the couch, praying that God would explode in this place. I remember the irritation in my voice that masked all fear & hurt crashing like tidal waves in my lungs. This was my wall of protection, holding in every ounce of vulnerability left.

“Did you even try to pray for your feet?”

“Yes, numerous times.”

“Like, did you bend down & touch them?”

“Yes. I did.”

“Well I’m going to.”

& my shaky hands held his feet, brushing them in the palms of my hands, kneeling in this same position for at least thirty seconds, as my mind emptied of every word that should be spilt. Finally, the words came in uneasy hesitance, & I couldn’t tell you what I prayed. All I could tell you was that the pain might’ve softened its blow, but it was still there.

The pain was still there, & it rung out through my body, trembling the tears out of my eyes. I remember their warmth turning cold by the tip of my chin. I remember the way I wondered why God would hurt the man with the most faith & why he wouldn’t reward mine.

& I didn’t leave the room for him to yell up the stairs to me that the magic has taken.

& I didn’t wake up the next morning to him jumping up & down at the foot of my bed that the God fairy struck.

It wasn’t even a ‘soon after’ kind of thing.

It was an all winter thing. A whole season. This was one breath during a whole day, a particular fruit of this particular season. This was a moment when we kneeled before our king, begging him to remove this thorn, & when he heard us, & replied not yet. Keep listening.

& maybe you are in this season. & maybe this is the season before the season. & maybe even this season is that unknown one worked into the future corner of your life, one that comes with the suddenly of tomorrow.

& that’ll come. They’ll come. If they’re part of the plan, they will arrive. Trust me. But what I have for you is this.

Keep listening. 

Because with the lightening, the visual comes first. The flash breaks before the sound. & if you’re still seeing the bright fireworks escaping the night sky, keep praying. Keep listening. Keep praising. If you’re still in the season, he’s not finished with you & this yet. It hasn’t been made complete in you. It hasn’t yet gutted you & this hasn’t quite flourished.

FIRST THE LIGHT
FIRST THE LIGHT
THEN THE SOUND.

This is for you, love. This letter & this season. Be fruitful. Be still. & when everyone’s scrambling at the catastrophe, wait for the presence of The Lord. Be still until Jesus moves you hand in hand to the next destination on the road map. Open your ears to his voice. Wait for it to pierce the silence.

He is here. He has not forgotten you. & this plan is still his plan.

Be still. Wait. Keep listening. There’s more.

It’s your turn, love. Break the silence. Spill your guts.

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