We never know who we may bless when we open the book of our lives, today's page, leave it there, no apologies, just there and pray God will use it to bless another, some other, down in home, down in heart: to touch where they live: a gift.
This morning I am saying "Thank You" to someone who opened hers. I stopped by her table, not by accident, this Thursday morning and pushed her bread to my lips, swallowed, just as she did her bit at church communion washed down by the grapes, crushed.
I can't tell her, except through my prayer. From my lips to God's ear. Its me, hopeful, from God's mouth to her heart. Thank you, Ann. That over-used word in Christian circles, transparency. Ann of the glass world, you are glass and you ministered grace to me, allowing your suffering to mingle with His and pour on me. In me. That deepest place that only He can reach, to touch with a scepter of His healing.
It's what I want my life to do, to be, for other hurting humans, especially my sisters in Christ. But do I? Really?Am I willing to lay it down, lay it open, leave my bread he can change from the common to the holy, for another? The cross. Eucharist is up and down and it's side to side. We are all crosses. To take part in His sufferings, as He takes part in ours.
Today, my own heart knew its selfishness: empty, yawning, cavernous need to be a vessel of receiving, the fullness of Him, to once then again be emptied for another, to pour out in a never ending circle of streaming. He was faithful, is faithful, always.
Girlfriends, stranger, for anyone who stops by, take the Bread. Take the blood, wash in it. Wine of Life. Take it. His cloth is always spread for you, cup full. Ask. It becomes great joy to Him. To feed is His glory. May it also be yours.
