“He watched the handful of people who stood motionless in the silvery air, waiting, as he found himself waiting . . . for more than the time when he would step up with his ancient words to the neat, square hole where a mat of artificial grass covered the raw earth and the urn had already been placed down inside by the undertaker and his assistant who stood at a tactful distance now, also waiting. Waiting for it to rain perhaps, waiting for it to be time at last to go home and forget . . . Waiting for you, he thought, always you, though half the time we hardly know it’s you or that we’re waiting. Come be with the living here and the dead and the ones it’s hard to tell about.”  –  from The Final Beast by Frederick Buechner

Please Lord, come and be with us. Please.

Help us to live like the truth is true and like it matters. Like we matter. Like life matters.

4 thoughts on “waiting”

  1. “…and the ones it’s hard to tell about.” …ouch…

    …yes, lord, please come. you’ve already raised the dead, so we know they’re no trouble to you at all…but their life comes back all at once, and you know, and WE know, and THEY know that they are alive! i wonder, is it harder to breathe life back into those whose bodies are still warm? whose lungs still take in and push forth air, but not the essence of life? is it harder, i ask, or does it merely seem to take longer?


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