Poetry

For My Serve Seattle Family

Poetry is a weird thing.

It’s complex, and it’s mysterious, and it’s exciting.

And there’s nothing poetic about us.

I mean, come on.

Now this is a joke:

Where do you find a Spotify sensation,

A Canadian,

And a closet carnivore

All in the same place?

Only here.

Here in the beautiful city of Seattle.

The Sunshine Inn, 1808.

Running through the 206 with my woes.

You know how that should go.

But it shouldn’t go.

Because there is no way

On God’s green earth,

That we would EVER have imagined us

To be in this place together.

But here we are.

Unqualified.

Equal parts broken for this world

And passionate for justice in it.

Poetic, right?

The perfect mixture of brokenness and passion,

A divine interaction,

Perfectly designed and brought together

By Something greater than us.

I wouldn’t want to do this work with anyone else.

We volunteer with our family.

We do life with our family.

We love our family.

A little more Steph and a little less Lebron.

That’s how we walk away from this year.

A little more family and a little less on our own.

We are poetry.

An incredible mixture of heartbreak dreamers,

Heartbroken by the pain and suffering of this world,

But dreaming of a day where justice is served.

So together we served Seattle.

Together we cried tears over stories,

Stories of homelessness and rape and murder.

Together we laughed while packing peas

And cleaning church pews.

Together? I hardly know her.

But I know you.

And together we got to know each other.

Our pains and our weaknesses,

Our brokenness and our strengths.

And together we worked day in and day out

To make this world a better place than it was yesterday.

Together we do this work

That we were called to;

The work that Jesus called us to.

To house the homeless,

To release the bonds of the addicted,

To rescue the victims of trafficking.

This is the work to which we were called.

And this work,

This Kingdom work,

It’s so much greater than us.

It’s heartbreaking.

It’s breathtaking.

It’s beautiful.

It’s poetry.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s