Look at the birds of the air, that they do not sow, neither do they reap, nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not worth much more than they?

What sort of Kind Soul has eyes to see, such, hidden in plain sight, painted into the deep contours of existence; that, which reveals the very essence of form and function, beauty, and purpose? That, revealed in flight and in flutter, not as whimsy, but as trust? That, in the settled timbre of their evening song, their arias of consolation? All is as it is meant to be, there, in such decisive observation, such sovereign reflection, such Holy interest, such perfection of will.

Only One Sort of Soul has such eyes. The Sort of Soul, who knows the blessed pace of things, the natural order. The very rhythm of the Trinity—Them, in action.

What does that invite of us? In which ways do the differentiated interests of the sparrow and the playful wakefulness that marks it, reveal characteristics that command both our attention and our volition as the very will of God?

These, The Divine Gait.

These, the very motion of His love.

Put down your phone, my friend. You, the one whom I love. The one, whom I wish to be well with all my heart and with all my willful delight. God bless you, my friend. With all my heart, may God bless you.

Permit of yourself a pace we once knew—a rhythm to life. Recall that time—that truer time—where you went to your phone…

And, there left it,

There, In its place.

Re-member? It had a place.

Re-member? It doesn’t confer to you yours,

Re-member? It didn’t confer to us, ours.

Re-member.

Re-member when you and I sought to fulfill the aspirations of our heart, unfettered by our

sordid fancies, our spirits of the air?

Our wi-fi.

Wi-fi.

Why?fi.

Re-member when you were dispossessed of so much rumour and worry? When you were so much farther from the impulse to hustle? When the unreal was far off, somewhere else. When we had to seek it, not avoid it? Not always avoid it?

Re-member a time,

Nay, a realm,

Where ?t didn’t exist yet,

Where ?t couldn’t press in upon you so; couldn’t shout with such acclaimed authority; couldn’t feign divinity, couldn’t wager such folly—where ?t was hidden away?

Friend,

Re-member. Re-member.

That realm closer to a Kingdom.

Of query, pray company.

Of reception, ponder, whether…ponder when.

Ponder.

Ponder.

When we went gently ahead together.

Mutual submission.

Mutual permission.

Freedom of flight. Consider the sparrows.

When the occasion of joy was so near, when the distance to it numbered only the steps from your door to your neighbour’s, each one, in assurance of trust and protection of bond.

Ra-ta-tap-tap, neighbour, Knock, knock, knock, knock: “I-am-for-you.” Ra-to-tap-tap, “Pray-be-for-me.

”Will my good, neighbour, as I will that for you, as They will that for us.

I remember that time for us, Dear Neighbour—nay, that Realm—and I long for it as the condition of my heart. I’m learning it, more and more, as the very nature of His.

That Realm of competent, yielded waiting; of mutual honour as gold, as very love of the ones near you.

That Realm, of company, not crowd.

That Realm of simpler aspiration,

Of humbler wishes and truer measurements.

That Realm of welcome compassion.

That Realm of kinder pace; one nearer The Divine Gait.

The pace of holy yokes.

I remember it and invite it:

Receive a text and sit on it in divine trust.

Wait a day.

Wait two.

Don’t ‘get back to me’; take your time and think. Take some time on me, friend. Take some time on me.

It’s ours to hold together.

It’s Theirs to give at all.

Take your time and pray. Take your time and be. Be with me in the waiting.

I’ll wait for you. I’ll hold you in grateful trust as you hold me there, too.

No pressure, my friend. No pressure.

Send a text and wait on it, in divine reverence; in grace, expressed as patience.

Give it a day and watch Her still turn. Sit with Them in the sort of trust would bid Atlas, “Throw Her heavenward and leave her be—you’re too weak to carry Her, She’s too wise to trust you.

She’s made for your feet, not for your shoulders.”

Take a load off, my friend, let Her do the carrying. Just treat Her kindly. She’ll return the gift.

He made Her that way. Not for your hands—only for His.

Atlas. At-las. At-last,

Spin where you’re meant to, my friend. Do your Good Work.

But know, this Yoke abides no fences, is bound by no field…

It knows as its home, only a Summons, sent forth in Love. Sent forth by Love, Himself.

It knows perfect work and it knows perfect waiting.

Ever toward the Call.

Patiently searching. Patiently calling. Patiently waiting.

Patience.

Friend, repose into stillness,

And know such peace,

As that, in the pace of Their step, the pulse of Their heart, Their Sweet Society,

Their symphony of motion, Their freedom of flight,

As that of the sparrow.

For you and for me, For us in Them, and They in us.

Father in Son, flowing through Spirit. We all, at last, as one.

Consider the sparrows, Dear Neighbour, Dear Friend.

Listen with me to Life set into motion.

Heavenly metronome.

Royal rhythm.

Settled trust.

Consider the sparrows,

‍

Amen.