free to be

oh, in the beginning, when you were alone,
did you dream of someone like me?
in the beginning, from soil and stone,
when you breathed out a world to be...

did you dream a great dream,
did it glisten and gleam,
for all of the angels to see?

in the beginning, in the depths of your heart,
were you thinking, already,
of me?

-Steven James

It's been one of those weeks already. The kind where I wish I could crawl on his lap; hear his laughter; place my head on his chest to feel the beating of his heart. I hunger for tangible love: eyes that smile and hands that move.

We started a conversation in church on Sunday. We talked about a God who welcomes the vagabond home and how he covers us with His grace and hungers for our real, imperfect hearts. Near the end of church, one brave young woman shared pieces of her heart. Her voice became broken and her head fell into her hands. She couldn't see how beautiful she was in those moments with her heart so exposed and vulnerable. I don't even know if she noticed how her vulnerablity gave others in the room, permission to do the same.

Christ with skin on...that's what we crave some times. A young voice in the back of the room; a beating heart; hands that move.

Vagabonds and prodigals; imperfect hearts.

And yet, He dreams of me.