the tension in the word of god swings like the young girl in the trees with my son.
she is agile and lovely. my boy tries to keep up with her. i try to keep up with paul as he lays out plain as day how we have traded the real god for a dollar store god.
it seems simple enough.
but she flips. she turns and ends up out on a limb. i see abe scratch his head at how she moves.
paul flips and says, but you who point the finger and feel like god’s insiders, you are much worse. the words turn on the page and land where i do not expect.
who can judge?
the man with integrity, leading others through their own dark nights of the soul, who is leading him?
they sit in the tree. the two of them an adam and eve of sorts, waiting for the serpent to come and offer them life in the form of being able to say what is good and what is evil.
all our judgement is little more than stolen goods.
it was never mine to begin with and i’m trying to give it back. i bring it to the only one who judges the heart rightly and flies through the air with the greatest of ease.