Life to the fullest.

Soaring through the crisp blue air, civilization gave way to luscious valleys and gorges whose voices echoed up to our small aircraft and called me deeper into their green earthen cradle.

A grass airstrip, welcomed the self-righteous rapists into its unprotected homestead with their weapon of choice slung around their neck.

Sitting under nature’s roof we soaked in the relentless sun watching it flow through the rivers and valleys of their beautifully weathered faces. Their soft amber eyes sunken, yet luminous portals to the breathtaking toil of their ancient story. Their voices, timeless, uttering a sonorous prayer in seamless unison with the glorious commotion around us. A flapping of wings, a clamor of distant parrots, iridescent blue butterflies disrupting the ebb and flow of dust particles floating on organic shafts of light. Life, erupting, emanating from a million colors all of which could never express the vastness of our souls. My heart, an abomination, raptured by a moment that neither hell nor the future could take from me.

A dirt path transporting me in my mind to the wonders of naked glory.

I watched, contently, as the mother and daughter rocked their tree canoe in the shallow stream filling it with water and then rinsing out the dirt. They sang softly, a song that I could only understand without knowing the words. Blissfully unaware of the world passing by, they labored. Then, with a smile, they waved me into the water and welcomed me home.

I stepped into the stream, drank in its coolness, and found my place seated in a puddle at the bottom of their rough wooden canoe. Together, we set sail for the distant shores of freedom. What I would give to remain in that place, to know its solitude in my heart, to resign into its peace. We glided through the water propelled by bamboo poles, pausing to gather fruit, hunt fish, and share smiles. I, the silent observer, unknown but welcomed. The fragrance of life played its melody with each warm, gentle breeze as we made our way around the winding path of reeds and low hanging vines.

Oh to be naked, to be seen, to be known.

A nameless hand, callused and shaking, touches mine. It breaches my soul and releases my weary hands from their death grip on my own throat. As I slump to my knees I am beckoned in and out of time.

Though I may wander, still I will follow;

Though none go with me, still I will follow;

The world behind me, the cross before me;

No turning back, no turning back.

The collective sighs of the earth reminding me that I have never really breathed.

We are all fucking prostitutes.

I used to admire the warriors of the world. The invulnerable, impenetrable and unknown. But as it turns out, the bravest, most persevering people are those who have crawled out of the depths of their heartache and bear their scars for all to see, that others might have hope and be set free. Those who knowingly and willingly step down from their place of safety and privilege and walk humbly in the valley of the shadow of death. The ones who do not insist on escaping life without scars, blemishes, or being shattered. They instead know that the earth is crumbling around them but refuse to look away. The ones who allow the piercing cries of the lost and lonely to reach the fleshly tenderness of their hearts. The ones who love and live out of all sides of their hearts. They will not bow to the sweetest of lies, but are quick to bow to a sovereign and sometimes silent God. They quietly illuminate. They do not shy away from the unknown. They are an advocate for the utterly unglamorous. They do not wait for a miracle. No, there is nothing to be said of those who grip their destiny and stoically pave their way to a loveless solitude. By the grace of God we must throw ourselves into the waves and as they crash on top of us, close our eyes and look to the One who has overcome the world and even overcome our human hearts.