I totally don't deserve this man. Look at him -- the tough guy with a Royal Princess melting his heart. Emphasis on tough. (And melting.)
Let me tell you a story about that Preacher -- and how he saved my life, this very day.
The doctor's term for my 6:30 a.m. out-of-body experience is hypoglycemia. Basically, my body sometimes has so little glucose/sugar/energy that it neglects every job but breathing, focusing solely on the expanding lungs, the thumping heart.
It leaves the walking, the balance, and the words to My Preacher. He's there.
By 7:15 this morning, I've been gone (asleep/awake in my low) for 45 minutes. My mind doesn't remember any of it. I come back aware, walking -- held up by The Preacher, my pace jerky and unsure -- to the bathroom. His arms hold me steady when my body rebels.
The first thing I say, finally back in bed: "Sorry." Tears pour. (If ever I can't help it, it's in this moment.)
In my mind, the word forms a single liquid drop of sound. Winding down broken pathways to my mouth, it splatters into a thousand droplets. When it finally spills from my lips, sorry is two syllabic grunts, incomprehensible.
But The Preacher understands, comforts me: "It's ok." Relief seeps into his tight muscles, leaks into his words, where I hear it clearly and am myself relieved: She's coming back.
I wonder later in the day about Tabitha. After her own personal resurrection day, when she thought of Christ -- did He seem to have Peter's eyes? Hands? I wonder.
Meaning no idolatry, I prayed as The Preacher fetched me a glass of milk. . . This morning, Lord, You look very much like My Preacher. But thinking more clearly now, I see the truth I missed.
In my awakening, my renewal, my own shadow of a resurrection this morning -- The Preacher looked very much like Him. Not the other way around. And isn't that the whole idea?
As for you, reader, what will you do with the time you've been gifted? I pray you'll take my morning to heart, and enjoy your day. If you walked to the door this morning, if you saw a blue sky above (or even if it was slate gray), if you had breath in your lungs, and words in your mouth -- give thanks.
And live this day.