I get stuck in the first few verses in Matthew. My mind wanders at each comma and paragraph break. There are years of lives lived in those pauses for punctuation and format. The spaces are thick with years:
. . . Salmon begot Boaz by Rahab,
Boaz begot Obed by Ruth,
Obed begot Jesse,
and Jesse begot David the king . . .
. . . Uzziah begot Jotham,
Jotham begot Ahaz,
and Ahaz begot Hezekiah . . .
. . . Josiah begot Jeconiah and his brothers about the time they were carried away to Babylon . . .
Lives lived. Some lived well, others by a thread. Days weighed in the balance, tipping the scales. Years between commas.
Death, heartache, excruciating joy in an “and”.
Needy people eating, cleaning, doing laundry, taking out the trash, talking, crying, breaking, healing, planting, cultivating, falling, rising, loving, hating, flirting, laughing.
Oh, God, why is it so heavy today?
God flows through our lives and our world like underground water pipes, and overhead electrical wires, and sound waves. Air. We only acknowledge him when we turn on the faucet, or flip the switch. Or listen. Or breathe.
He is an underground spring. He is the wind.
We live and die and struggle in between the commas and paragraph breaks, looking for him.