Interceding as I walk for a beloved friend who is hurting right now, this fountain catches me off guard.
"Welcome," she quietly beckons. "Frolick and play in the beauty of my holiness."
Sorrow and grief run their coarse, step-by-step I walk as I mourn what's unfolding. And there, right there, in the midst of it all Christ comes, always surprising, always jolting.
Something about the soft, white petals, the ducks flapping their wings, and the unrelenting fountain streaming beauty and grace. This all in the midst of the tough soil being uprooted in my friend. And in the community of saints as Paul exhorts, "If one part suffers, we all suffer alongside."
Indeed. We walk this life of suffering waiting to bear out resurrection. Believing and holding the delicate tension of death and life, anguish and joy, the Valley of Death becoming a Door of Hope (Psalm 23, Hosea 2).
Yes, even here Jesus bids, "Come, let me dwell with you. Carry this with you all. Carry him back into holiness and truth."
This shared in life is uncomfortable, a learning curve, and a new life of faith. Never easy, always g o o d.
"Live as my vessel, invite others into the garden of wholeness and life. Frolicking splendor and adorning l o v e."
I jump into the fountain and begin to flap my wings.