Funny how things work out.
No one hits the road knowing how it looks at the other end.
Or how their broken little hallelujahs will find voice with the one who says,
“This is my body, broken for you.”
Someone once said; the story has already been told.
I just have to find it and write it down.
So it is with the Father.
So it is with the earth that is ever curved towards home.
These are our songs. They’re our little paths; stories of the prodigals,
the little triumphs of grace.
The old saint said, the glory of God is man fully alive.