Sincere Spaces

The space was lived in and it gave my chest room to breath. It was a good mess. It wasn’t dirty but you could tell that the 3 year old and 10 month old that occupied the home were alive and well. The sun ripped through the whole house and the friends that sat around the small wooden table laughed easily and often.

This was my Sunday afternoon and I wish I could show all of it to you. It wasn’t magnificent or grand but it was real. The smiles were real and the speech was not clothed with pride. And this got me thinking. My bones and my flesh are real and living. Our breath is hot and our fingers can stretch. Our legs are bending and our bodies react. There is a life inside of us that is just too wonderful to speak of. I wonder how we can sincerely question the existence of God. For the wonder is too great and the silliness too profound.

All a jumbled up mess that was made by chance?
Have you seen a lived in home? Have you caught a glimpse from a friend’s eye that held a thousand words? Have you sensed sincerity by simply holding a cup of coffee? Have you gripped a hand? Have you felt the ripping sunshine? Have you felt hot tears and held a friend that couldn’t get warm?

These aren’t calculations made by a few molecules jamming together and then evolving overtime. These spaces where sincerity is sustained, where eyes gaze and then lock together, and where friends speak not a word but understand, are a reflection of an infinite and wonderfully complex God.

I am not talking of just the sunshine but also the dark clouds. I don’t see God any less in the thunderstorms than I do in the streaks of gold. He is evident and He is clear. He is magnificent and He is always near.

The times we reflect and simply wonder are perhaps the times when we live out childlike faith the most. Oh, yes, and even the times when our brains are clicking through all the gears and cranking out emails, and briefs, and papers, and plans- this is childlike too.

Our whole bodies are intricately made. The spaces that we are given can hold countless tales. I was reminded of this Sunday and I hope to remember more often.

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