It’s been 231 days, and I’ve realized, he is something else.
Anyone who even glances his direction should stop and watch. Because there is something to be learned. He struggles well. He doesn’t take for granted any moment. He seizes it, analyzes it and operates in it with enormous faith. Jesus speaks to him. And he listens, he hears and applies and grows and moves. He doesn’t move like a college student half committed to a running plan, he moves like a steam engine, barreling ahead. Sturdy, reliable, but not bound to one set of tracks-vigilant in seeking if and when a detour needs to be taken. He’s safe and intimidating, sure yet terribly frightening. He isn’t afraid to let the rumble of the wheels against the steel shake the ground, or the scream of the whistle fill the air with his presence. It’s not for show no, but the natural rhythm and pace of his actions that makes his presence in any space undeniably undeniable.
Jesus speaks to him. And he listens.
Like Esther before the king, he isn’t afraid to dress in his best and stand in the courtyard to be noticed by those who can help him on his journey. He’s not bound to let things simply fall into place-no he’s tactfully aggressive because He knows his mission was given to him by the King himself, and there is no time to be wasted.
He’s writing a story. Moreso being written into a story. A story so grand it’s going to be told long after he’s gone. Not because his name is on it no, but people will know his name for sure…if only because every morning he wakes up and strips off those 6 letters for a more powerful and humble 7: adopted. He knows his place in the Kingdom and fights to show those outside the city walls that they too belong.
He’s not broken in light of his strengths, but a champion in light of his brokenness.
So thank you days 2-231, but especially thank you day 1. Thank you for letting me draw near to the tracks like a kid with a penny, and for not letting me run when the force of the momentum pushed me backwards.
I’m glad I jumped on.