Written on March 27, 2017. By Shari Norvell
Beneath the freshly lit sky story, upon a distant shore and within the hem of the Caribbean and Atlantic we sat, lingering in the lovely of it all. We were surrounded by silent and still. In the midst of that place, we held hands, we healed, we hoped and we hallelujahed.
As we made our way back to our hideaway, I returned to an earlier moment in the day when I sat where shore meets floor and I realized that over the past few months, I’ve sobbed a sea, my drips and drops filling a Heaven spot. Wave upon wave came washing the weary and worn. In and out like breaths of the deep, taking the less of me to the more of Him. An extravagant exchange between earth and Heaven.
For I long to not only see beauty but be united with it. To bathe in it until I become that which glows and pulls hard on the heart that is easily seduced by that which glitters. To be the shine and shimmer upon the path less traveled so those who are wandering widely might kneel at the narrow and find. That they are found. Now matter how fast and far they have run and ruined.
As we cross the threshold of our island sanctuary, I set about removing dune and dust of the seashore from my feet and ankles. But it clings and cleaves. As close as He does. It will not leave me without a scrape and smooth. Rubbing relentlessly until I’m soft and surrendered.
To the joy set before me. For the days when beauty oozes from every crevice and pulses from every pore of us. Until there is no piece or place not irradiated with Him. Candescent and radiant. Aglow and afire.
The last speck falls into my palm and I discover my collection of more.
How precious are your thoughts to me! Were I to count them, they would outnumber the grains of sand, when I awake, I am still with you. Psalm 139:18
I am still with Him and that is the most of the more. My path is straight, my rough is smooth. I don’t have to find my way, He is my way. My stretch and span. My door and gate. My bearing and orientation.
As we settle in for sunset, we read a story that has become precious to us. And I find my many mores.
For I have far more:
Ups than downs
Hugs than ughs
Woohoo than whoa
Cans than nots
We than me
Bubbles than bath
Pause than fast forward
Treasure than pockets
Journal your mores. Then journal about a most – the way you have awakened to find you are still with Him.
Place something upon your table that speaks beauty – puts words to it. Place slips of paper at each spot and invite those gathered to write the words that come to them to express the beauty hat united them to Pappa in a new way.