Re:Creation

In the beginning, there’s always dust.

The rough, raw stuff of earth,
ready to slip back through your fingers 
and return, gravity bound, to ground: 

Chaos cradled in your hand.

Then – a little breath, a little warm, wet air
as the firmament dares to dissipate
and roll its waters down to round up
the scattered sands, a parched and shattered land
become an oasis, a place brimming with potential,
a space where man, made, now makes.

It’s here, with all the world our workshop,
things take the shape that we give.
It’s here we find that love is something you hold
with an open hand, an attentive gaze that proclaims 
the goodness of what is – and what will be.

It won’t be easy.

See, form and function are forged in the furnace,
meaning made manifest between millstones,
purpose found in the pressing,
blessing, on the heels of breaking.

Isn’t that how it always is? 
Isn’t that the law of love that leads us home,
into the bruised embrace of a scarred Savior? 

Even when He blessed us, we broke Him. 
Even though we wounded Him, He welcomes us.
Even now, He meets us at the door.

So come in. Bring your humble best,
the work of your heart, the work of your hands. 
Lay it at the feet of the King, trusting that
He can make even all these things new 
at His table, and call it good:

A feast fit for a Lamb.