Speed it up, lady, you are running late.
It seems like I am always late, like I live this life a hurried mess. And that mess is always in need of an untangling.
I had organized my tasks upon waking this morning, calculated the time necessary to complete my chores and kept perfect track of the minutes in between. Yet, here I am in the shower, late. My math skills same as my life skills, however consistent, have always proved to be less than acceptable.
The warm water envelops me and I pause reality to savor the moment, yet only until the sharp stinging on my shin forces my return. Examining my leg, I find the telltale trail of blood, the cut of a razor blade.
As the blood slides down the front of my leg the memory of my first adventure with a razor falls into my mind. Young, awkward, and almost always without proper guidance. I made a bold attempt at shaving. Unfortunately, my reward was an ugly slash bleeding red along the top of my shin.
Innocence is ripped from idealism when life is attempted at an age too young and too alone. Cuts and wounds lead to pain no matter what age. The cut then was deeper and the sting sharper, but the mess I made, consistent.
Shaking my head, I look down at the bright red blood watching as it works its way down and across the top of my foot, spreading over my toes, and finally washing out into the tub to circle down the drain. I can’t help but to think about the blood of Christ, how it flows all over and across my life washing away the unclean.
A red trail of redemption that continually flows down either side of time because of the red blood that flowed from those pierced hands hung on the outstretched arms of Christ. That red thread reaches all the way back through the pages of time in no hurry to be revealed as it wove itself into the lives of those who placed their trust in You.
Unrealized in it’s fullness, it just flowed bringing life. Past the feet of the priests’ at Your altar, down the wall while hanging from the window of Rahab, and down into the Garden of Eden freeing the first ones to enter into shame. Bright red blood flowing hidden through those pages untangling all the messes of life as it tangled itself into the lives of Your people.
Weaving back through my life You have brought beauty to painful places, quickened dead branches to bloom and bear fruit. And, it’s here I see that some of our mess is necessary for His grace, beautiful in it’s need for His mending. Perfected in His inter-tangling.