of murderers and midwives
i pick up the knife and pierce what is right in front of me. the practice of killing time becomes a habit and is it possible to murder a minute, an hour, a day? could i leave months and years bleeding behind me?
time arrives faithfully every second hoping for better treatment, for mercy – and i always have this choice:
murderer or midwife?
“there is no god.”
a fool says it in their heart and i say it in mine. i doubt and compare and contrast. i look for god in ten thousand places, in every person i meet, everywhere except in the person of jesus. i feed my selfish nature like a beloved pet in a cage and today i’m seeing the bars.
today i’m reading the psalms that tell of the only one who loves perfectly and that’s grace.
today is friday and that’s grace, too. there are so many gifts and here i am with a knife in my hand.
i think i’ll stop murdering the days. instead of a murderer maybe i could be a midwife.
i could rise up to know that god is real and that god is pregnant with love, joy, peace and righteousness in the holy spirit. and i could tend to god and i could labor alongside even though god alone brings life.
i could catch newborns into my arms.
i could laugh with astonishment at the great every day miracles of the here and now, of the right in front of me. i think i could do that today.