The Day Between

There comes a time
when we are close…
close to an understanding
or forgiveness or
healing or hope.
We aren’t quite there,
but close.
Like those marigold seeds
we planted, and we
see the ground just
beginning to crack open or
like the olive-colored goldfinch
who are no longer brown but
not yet golden…
they still need time in the
spring sun before their
brilliance steps forward.

And here we are, too.
We’ve cried through Good Friday,
and now we’re hanging out
in this quiet space,
this day before Easter.
We’re also in this pandemic,
where we are waiting…
waiting for cures and vaccines and 
safety that
will return us to what was so familiar.
Like seeds and goldfinch and Easter,
we are waiting for the joy of what we trust
is coming…
something sacred that will
renew our living and our lives.

But here, in this day 
of waiting,
there is something
sacred as well.
There is the questing
of who we are
and who we hope to become.
There is the anticipation
that something here 
will carve
a pertinent lesson
into our hands
so we come to new
understandings
that put flesh
o our doctrines
and actions of love
to our words.

Here is a dreaming space,
a space where we
can lay down the 
shallowness of what binds us
and open our arms
to the wondrous vision
God has always held for us…

that we are beloved,
that we are created for each other
in the image of the Divine
all covered in clay
and warmed by the 
spring sun…

Here in this day of waiting, 
we are
ripe with promise.
Let us lean in and let go
that we may rise with the 
resurrection morning...
made ready
for such blessing.