The man is sitting hand held out. An old cup is collecting random coins tossed unthinkingly from random hands. The weather today has been wet, miserable. We are all bedraggled. A cool Melbourne summer's day . . . The man's blanket is wrapped around his legs. His head covered with a beanie, one that has seen better days. His jacket holds a hole or two. His eyes are tired and weary. Will life today be any different? Will there be more than the random tossing of coins . . . |
The building above where the man sits, is decorated. The reds and greens of Christmas. The garlands are threaded with a gold thread. And I wonder. . . .while we celebrate and draw festivities around us, what does it matter to the man who sits beneath the decorations? I wonder what difference the heralding of the season means to this man? Do we hear his voice among the clamour of the busyness? Do we pay attention to the presence of one who sits amongst us? One who says Jesus, and Kingdom of God, more than the gold threaded garland adorning the building . . . .
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My first bed was a box. The God story touches us.
If you've ever had a cardboard box for a bed, a meagre meal. If you've ever squatted with nothing to call your own, if you've sat staring out to a world from a place of nothing, then the God story has touched you. If you've ever been isolated, afraid, lost. If you've ever wondered when things might change for the better, then the God story has touched you. If you've ever felt the bitter hand and actions of another, if you've been pushed to the edges of society, just for who you are. Then the God story has touched you. You are carriers of the God story. You are the ones who hold out to the world the challenge of God's love, of God's grace. You are the ones for whom a young woman, gave birth to God who is with us. You are the ones who awaken us to the depth of God's story. And you are the ones who remind us of why we find ourselves at the foot of a cross, and in the entrance to an empty tomb. You are the ones, who live the Christmas, Easter - death and resurrection - stories, every single day. You touch us with the God story as it touches you.
Who I am being shaped to be doesn't mesh with the shaping of others. And for a time we don't fit well together.
It's not an easy space to be in. It's messy and muddly, it's different and weird. It hurts deep inside. I've never known it not to. As we grow within, something of the old has to move out. Growing pains of the soul. And yet, it is this unfitting human that God keeps calling forward. So on the days when I don't fit, I know at least, I fit there . . . . |
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