Broken and Beautiful Places
Rise Again
Light and shadows cast just right. The setting sun marks the closing of a day. The brick steps reach down to the streets below. A colored sky awakens as a cool breeze meets my face. The warm glow of street lights and porch lights sends a welcome glow. Sunlight glides between lavender, and pathways lead walkers and runners. Oh, to hold these moments a little longer before the slow fade takes it away. Yet even now, the fading light ignites the sky with color, birthing hope—the dead rise.
Down the road, I see broken men laid out in the street. Did their light so out? Can they see the warm glow of hope? Do they see the flowers springing up through the cracks in the broken city Streets?
I am aware of something more. To grasp it seems so close, yet it slips through my fingers like clouds through a mountain pass. I’m aware of these beautiful and broken places.
The words echo, “It is finished,” even when all seemed lost. Yet amid death, life came forth, and a promise came forth, “Behold, I am making all things new.”
So now, as I walk and see the beautiful places that birth a longing inside, I hope for more to come. 0 rise broken places, stand up and walk. Cast off those burdens and see if the moment is pregnant with hope.
Now, I speak to all the beautiful and broken places; rise up.
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