The Last Letter

You are sitting back in your chair, 
chin raised, 
eyes closed, 
trying - desperately - to get 
comfortable. 

But the discomfort is inside.
Pain - like an unwelcome
squatter - 
has set up camp in your 
chest, 
your back, 
your legs. 

You tell me your story. 
My heart breaks - 
for the bodies betrayal,
for all that could have been, 
for all that you are. 

But you are not bitter, 
not angry at fate, 
only sad. 
Sad for too little time, 
and concerned for your boys. 

Will they be okay?
Will they recover?

I tell you not to worry, 
to trust in the strength God has given them. 

They ask to visit,
but you say "don't 
concern yourself." 
I tell you to let them in. 
The cure for pain is in the pain,
says Rumi. 

You ask if I will read to you.
From the Bible, 
you say. 
You hand me your own. 
I reach out and take hold of its well worn cover. 
I flip through the pages, 
highlighted 
and 
underlined. 
Ancient words brought back to life in florescent flashes
of wisdom heeded, 
assurance passed down to the next generation
in word
and 
flesh. 

I open to Romans. 

"He is in prison," I tell you.
"Been beaten, mocked, knocked down... 
This is his last letter to the Church."
You fix your eyes on me,
mind in another place, 
another 
prison. 

There is therefore now no condemnation for those  who are in Christ Jesus. 
For the law of the Spirit of life in Christ Jesus has set you free  from the law of sin and 
of death...
If the Spirit of him who raised Jesus from the dead dwells in you, 
he who raised Christ from the dead will  give life to your mortal bodies also through his Spirit that dwells in you.

I look up to find your face. 
Your eyes are closed,
tears leaking down your beautiful 
ebony 
cheeks. 

I return to the ancient words. 
I read them with 
every 
ounce 
of 
hope, 
every 
kernel of 
belief 
I 
can 
muster - 
as if my trust will make it so.

I want you to feel, 
to taste, 
the spirit of God that fills our lungs.
Breath of heaven.

We know that the whole creation has been groaning in labor pains until now; 
and not only the creation, but we ourselves, who have the first fruits of the Spirit,
groan inwardly while we wait for adoption, the redemption 
of our bodies. 

For in hope we were saved... 
Likewise the Spirit helps us in our weakness; 

for we do not know how to pray as we ought, 
but 
that very Spirit intercedes 

with sighs too deep for words.

The breath that sustained Paul, 
the spirit that inspired these words - 
breathing now -between us- 
within you 
now,
sighing in deep, holy groans.
Leading you in safety to that which is prepared for you. 

What then are we to say about these things? If God is for us, who is against us? 
He who did not withhold his own Son, 
but gave 
him up for all of us, will he not with him also give us everything else?

No.

in all these things we are 
more than conquerors through him 
who loved us. 
For I am convinced that neither death, 
nor life, 
nor angels, 
nor rulers, 
nor things present, nor things to come, 
nor powers, nor height, nor depth, 
nor anything else in all creation,
will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.

I take your hand - 
our souls touch. 
Human, together.

Like a canoe launched into the water 
I watch you float
away,
to the other shore. 

Smiling. 
Smiling.