his wild heart beats

Exhausted, I leaned forward into his arms, too tired even to offer up a hug, but instead buried my face in his chest and allowed myself to just be held. His heart beat loud and true in my ear. My body sagged, but I know I was safe and I was secure so long as I could heart the strong and consistent rhythm of his heart. 

Today, easter, was a long day.  I expended a lot of emotion as we hosted friends and enjoyed over 12 hours of food and creativity. At the end of the day though the resounding thought is that of Jesus (and relationship with him), which if I'm honest has been more of an internal reflection than an external application in the last month. I keep thinking of how wordless I find myself in the face of him who secured the victory. How completely insufficient my attempt to capture him is. How even, as above, when I am reminded of what it would be like to be pressed against his chest, my human body can't compute.

I find myself aching and longing to split open the veil, to crack the cistern and to release the torrent of color raging within me to attempt at one, single, miniscule, taste/glimpse of the reality of his ferocity and beauty - and at the same time I want nothing more than to slow, to rest, to sit with my ear pressed against his chest basking in the warmth of his embrace and the security of his arms.

Even in the face of my inability I find myself thankful. Thankful that I'm thankful in this season that looks so different from any place I've been before.

I am thankful his wild heart beats alive.

Taren MarounComment