Freedom Song

{I haven't written in so long... I miss this. Nice to feel the words pouring out, even if this prose is about as unrefined as it gets. This is about a new development that's been happening in my life recently... will talk about it more soon, but just want to share these vague tidbits for now...}

Perhaps it's better this way. To wait on His hand for daily water, to wait on His fields for daily bread. It's a far-off door, but it gives light enough for the sabbath, that I may learn what rest is. They are waiting too, I remind myself: the imprisoned messenger, the secret baptist, the persecuted teacher, the veiled disciple. Adopted orphans, widow brides — my kin, hoping for the heavenly things. I think of them as I wait on the miracle to inch its way to half past four.


Oh how little my faith, that I trust the setting sun but doubt the Saviour's rising. Come as you are, and I answer back with blue jeans, sweater on shirt, bundled up and suede-booted, with fears and weaknesses and joys to lay into my Father's arms.

The sun is swaying low; the air makes visible my breath, and it is fitting, for I come to be made visible. I come for smiles and tears, for glances and greetings, for embrace and prayer-touch, for vivid Spirit, manifest grace, conspicuous faith.

A destination is a secret, and I keep mine in my ribcage and in my purse — the former, a heart-cry; the latter, heaven's correspondence, sent to me leather-bound with a return address called "Love." The living book breathes, prepares the heart to know the swell and surge of love.

Dizzying. Storm-tossed. Salty. Anchored. Still. This ship has no parlours, no first-class dining, no iron hull. She is really just a lifeboat, but I am drowning and if my pride prevents me from reaching, the sea will pull me apart. So I grow humble and find myself caught up to safety, with blankets and greetings and prayers, with shepherds and strangers and friends, with coffee and cookies and juice.

And it is all love, though it may not look like much — the stop, the walk through snow, the clattering staircase, the dingy and plain; this extraordinary and uncontainable home.


And I steady myself for the song.



Holly said...

really looking forward to hearing more about it, Oksana.


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I'm Oksana—Communication major, shutterbug, occasional blogger, incessant doodler, graphic design geek, and writer of sentimental prose. I am quite content to spend an afternoon with a pencil, a few blank Moleskine pages, and a playlist of indie folk. I love musical theatre, black-&-white movies, and Eastern European illustration. Conversations with strangers make my day. When it rains, I make a beeline for my mug of green tea and stack of 19th-century fiction. I'm vegetarian about 98% of the time. I'm extremely awkward and rather nerdy. I love the sea. My name means 'hosanna' and I'm having the time of my life living to praise the One who set me free.

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