Out of silence.

In the womb, I was knit.

Love awakened me.

I spoke, thought, and reasoned as a child.

Love gently called, “Awake, my child.”

I dozed off. Deeply forgetting.

Love shook me. Twice. A third time.

I remembered.

To stay awake I poured a big mug of righteousness. Filled to the brim with rightness.

Love took that mug, gave thanks, and broke it.

Broke the next one too.

Threatened to continue if I didn’t remember to pour in a good bit of fresh mercy every morning.

These days, Love and I walk in the woods. I whisper, “Love, awaken me.”

One day, silence will come again.

I’ll be still. As death.

Love will whisper, “Awake, my love.”

This I believe on every level of my being.

But, if I should die before a I wake.