Earlier today I saw a security guard reading a thin book.
He was sitting in the shade on a pile of rocks.
He looked up from his book and greeted me with a smile and a wave.
I bent down slightly and twisted my head in an obvious attempt to read the cover of whatever it was he was reading.
It just said, Jesus.
I started crying.
And couldn’t stop.
There are times I feel as though I’m being ripped apart then quickly reassembled, it can happen once a day or once in a week, usually the effects are emotional.
But if it happens twice in a day, if I see or experience something profound enough to provoke in me tears.
Then I need time, to adjust.
Ray LaMontange says in his song “Hold you in my arms” that,
Love is a poor man’s food.
While I’m starting to think, faith is a poor man’s anaesthetic.