I cup my hands as life is poured into them… Splashing. Dripping. Spilling.
Clear, smooth liquid seeps through my fingers. I tighten and clench lest none be lost as I kneel and bow and receive.
And as water escapes, the smell of change permeates my home…
It blows through gently like a subtle whistle through a slightly cracked window.
I can smell it like the disappearing scent of a blown out flame. Fire once burning, illuminating, scorching… Now dissipating, dissolving, escaping.
The dark aroma of burning ash and white-hot smoke reminds me of the fiery light that cast out shadows and softened appearances.
Change… It’s here. I can smell it.
My hands are cupped. My arms outstretched. I ask for them to remain full.
Just keep pouring in, Lord! This is what I ask.
I don’t want to lose any of what he has to give. I’ll hold it all, take it all, embrace it all.
Yet, some still trickles out. Life… It trickles out.
I question the loss. I hate loss. Tears in my soul join the deluge that falls to the ground. The breeze is gentle but the reality harsh.
But, then I recognize through blurred vision that my hands are not empty. Fresh water still pools and rises. No, they have never been barren or dry.
Filling up. Pouring out. Filling up. Pouring out.
It’s all so fluid. All of it. We love and love and love some more. We risk and receive. We risk and grieve. It’s all so fluid.
Like subtle breezes and vanishing smoke, water flows and seeps. It finds its way in and it finds its way out.
And so I will remain. Knees bent. Hands held high.
Thanking him for what remains and trusting him with what is lost.