It's always cold on Easter in Mississippi,
and I felt it all the way through this morning's run.
Afterward, I swaddled myself in a blanket and let the strong sun hit my face and
the unopened Bible on my lap.
Sometimes that's all I can do when the whirlwind steals my breath,
and the fire crisps my lips. Sometimes all I can do is listen and think;
squeeze my grave cloth wrapped body into the cleft and hide.
I feel like dying because I'm dead and sloughing off as Christ,
who laid aside His grave clothes, lives for me.
So as I run and my grave clothes flap back in my face like a flag or a banner,
I pretend they are really Christ's standard signaling that He is in the lead.
No comments:
Post a Comment