Fellowship Battles

It Seems…

Like a lifetime ago.

I look back now

And…

And,

I see you but I still,

I,

I still…

See how I’ve missed your hand

Over and over

Like jumping across a valley as wide as Ohio to L.A.

To the coast and back.

Little faith.

But,

Enough.

You know it’s dark in this well.

I’m the least of the 99.

The riches of your wisdom and knowledge flow deep enough to carry me out.

When the vail was torn,

I saw prayers behind.

Friends and Strangers.

Family.

Birthdays.

Six months and 30.

Traveling the desert was tough,

And long,

But worth it.

Like Bethlehem to Nazareth.

I’ve seen how far your church stretches.

A long way since Jericho.

Who am I kidding?

We still eat fruit like Adam,

Before we grow it like branches.

Thank God for Holy roots.

My praise is not talking to You.

More like,

Talking with you.

I count more than two,

Or,

Three.

In fellowship I leap.

Because you tell mountains to move,

And they fly.

Your presence

Is near.

Is here.

How can water hold me up?

Split for me to cross?

And wash me clean?

Alone,

I was one body.

With others,

I’m a member to the one true Body.

The wilderness is filled with snakes and wolves.

The Devil is persistent.

But flawed.

He tares easier than man versus lion.

The Savior’s sword is sharp.

Jesus,

Feed me like you fed the 5,000.

Gathered in love.

Dine with me,

So I may weep on your feet.

What did you draw in that sand?

Is it what you sketched on my heart?

I know a stone or two I deserve.

You gave me vision with mud in my eyes.

How grateful I am for the ones who lowered my crippled body through the opening in the roof.

The rope burns on their palms,

Imitate the holes in Yours.

I danced out of my grave,

Touched you through the crowd,

And you new my name up in that tree.

I feel alive.

More alive than ever.

I’m on fire,

But do not burn.

I rejoice with those who rejoice.

I weep,

With those who weep.

It takes a group to travel out of Egypt.

Some don’t make it.

The journey is difficult.

Like the eye of a needle.

But I know a way that makes it possible.

The same way 12 disciples fed 12 tribes,

With words outlasting the stars.

It takes a family to make it through a flood.

You asked,

Who is my brother?

Who is my mother?

These are my brothers.

My mothers.

I know you.

I know the Father.

Oh what a day for praise.

Together,

Halleluja.

-THE END-


Written by Sean Reed

Akron, Ohio