I was talking with a brother. Drifting through uncertainties of our future, memories of our past, dreams of tomorrow, pain from yesterday and through the haze of comfortable conversation formed an image.
That image was a seed. A small and bitter thing. a thing with time grows roots and strengthens. From those roots comes a beautiful catastrophe of earthquakes and mountain moving. That seed, capable of tremendous influence. Capable of creating a movement through generations. Holds the power to rip lives apart…
Sits in our refrigerators. A yellow spread accentuated perfectly with a pickle. Mustard.
We drifted, as I said, and the conversation moved to smaller then deeper than larger than smaller again and eased into the peace of steady breath and serotonin rejuvenation.
But that seed clings to my heart and makes me wonder. The power of a thing without substance. Not like air or time but of an unequivocal depth.
A thing to kill children for.
A thing to breathe for.
A thing to walk into fire for.
A thing to open arms to knives for.
A thing to weep for.
A thing of sacrifice.
A thing of hope.
A thing of life.
Faith. God’s fingerprint on our heart.
Faith. A mustard seed can move mountains. A belief that provides the power to overcome fundamental beliefs, cultural limits, primal rules.
I evaluate my heart often. I feel it provides for an honest opinion on what I do everyday. But I'm always left at the question how large is my faith. How deep is my faith. How powerful is my faith.
If my faith is large, deep and powerful than I am no longer touched by the insecurities of this temporal sphere. I become a man so resonant with the assurance of my Lord Jesus that death; pain, misfortunate, poverty, illness, disparity, wellness, prosperity, goodness and blessings no longer hold sway over my heart.
I desire to have one desire. yellow faith. Dripping off of my fingers. So soaked that nothing I touch or see is every dry again.
I want to move mountains. Even if its only the mountain of doubt in my life.
