Ripples of the Redeemed

Walk with me, will you, my friends?

I am not here for much longer.

My echo already stretches further back than the shadow I cast while walking into tomorrow.

I have but a breath left in me before I too phase, like a ghost out of sync with this present reality.

So linger a while. Hold my words close.

Ponder them.

All stars must one day burn themselves out while screaming into the cold darkness of space.

I linger for a moment more, burning off my last fuming gasses in an effort to reach you, Beloveds.

I feel it — the internal worth in my core is nearing the point where my physical shell may no longer contain it.

I am so full within that I honestly wouldn’t be surprised if You threw up a peace sign, Your arm protruding from my center mass.

I’d probably just nod my head and offer You a hand the rest of the way out.

I’d be a little sketched out that You’d been hanging out with all the skeletons I left in my closets.

The one I came out of… come on! That was funny.

But what happens when the internal worth is so extreme and the outer self so thin that they meet in the middle?

What do we become?

What does it look like now, in this digital age, for a soul to be so replete that they walk around like a piñata waiting for a good poke to spill testimony?

All of us would be walking around with You behind our eyes — and know it at the same time. Right?

This is what I mean.

I walk around through my days and I am constantly being shaved down.

Certain things that once mattered to me mean nothing and cannot move me any longer.

Other things I once found lame are now my most cherished truths.

I walk around in constant paradox:

Born a man — transitioned to a woman.

Strong yet compassionate.

Hopeful yet despairing.

Lonely yet never alone.

Poor, and yet making many rich.

It is this paradox that allows me to enter the writing as I do —

to thread the needle of sorrow from the spool of hope.

And I rejoice as pieces are discarded along the way, whether they hurt or not.

I am becoming the scripture made flesh.

A living testimony.

I see Him behind all of it.

HEAR ME: I COUNT IT ALL AS JOY.

I count the cost as nothing and discard it as rubbish that I might know You and the power of Your resurrection.

I actively praise when You perform excruciating spiritual amputation for my best and highest self, sustained within You.

I understand now what Paul meant when he spoke of the energies You so powerfully worked in him — as they are now at work within me.

It’s like an internal fusion reactor, existing at once both spiritually and physically.

You stir me when I need to be stirred, and I’m learning to move faster when You say move.

Even in my sleep, You wake me — urging me, moving me in Your Holy Spirit–born intention — to write even a single word.

Friends, I am being carried along.

I am a vessel, a boat upon a vast current, surfing the waves of the Father.

I am looking with intentional longing.

What most of our friends may not realize is that we are all approaching the same space —

a liminal line where choice is the most potent power we have.

The choice for our time.

The choice for what we will be carried along by.

Will you be a sailboat?

A submarine?

Or a surfer on a board like me?

The truth is, we all must surf these deep waves of the Father in the face of the Son, Yeshua.

The emanations still radiate like ripples from that one dropped stone in the pond of redemptive creation — Yeshua.

You made the biggest tidal wave I have ever seen with a single life.

You rose again to start dropping us as pebbles from heaven’s height,

making minor and major ripples still — even in our mundane and ordinary lives.

I am one of those concentric rings,

rippling the surface tension of perceived reality.

This piece is another wave of ripples — attempting to rock the surface of complacency and start the dialogue of discernment and devotion actively upon You Yeshua.

Thank You, Beloved.

— Dust