let God prevail.

i am finally exhaling.

after a string of hard things that i'm already forgetting.

after literal fires and figurative floods.

all worry and relief and disappointment and gratitude.

after the sudden escapes, quests and adventures.

here i sit and breath out.

small in my mind is a giant's left foot, about to crash through my roof.

anything that can happen will happen. lightning never strikes the same place twice. no good deed left unpunished. five little monkeys jumping on the bed, one fell off and bumped his head. the simplest solution is usually the best. neither can live whilst the other survives. 

all the sayings.

who can tell what is coming next?

then who can make sense of why?

personally, i've chosen to let God prevail in my being. for me this is both a choice made once that holds me always and a choice i must make in multiplicity. 

with every atrocious article describing some new crime conceived in the soul of mankind i fall apart in mourning. i ache with the hows and whys and how-horribles and why-bother-with-peoples.

i am a tetherball with a strong cord, attached to a mighty staff secured firm in the concrete of eternity. but the punches can still send me flying.

as connected as i feel to God in love and covenant i can fly far from him in my hurt and anger.

in wretched grief i saw this: "Therefore also now, saith the Lord, turn ye even to me with all your heart, and with fasting, and with weeping, and with mourning" (Joel 2:12).

then the promise: "I will restore to you the years that the locust hath eaten, the cankerworm, and the caterpiller... And ye shall eat in plenty, and be satisfied... And ye shall know that I am in the midst of Israel, and that I am the Lord your God" (Joel 2:25-26).

did He just say He will restore to us the years (plural)? i think about 2020 then feel a bit sick for 2021. 

are there more cankerworms years coming?

should i lick my finger and hold it up to the wind?

hmm, a plague of human heartlessness seems carried in the gale. 

my hope is in the Savior who gives me that breath to exhale the world's weight. who sets under my nose the divine smells of eternity.

here now, chest expanding, breath infused with the forever smells of clean baby skin, tender husband kisses, wet garden soil, and crinkly book pages.