Sunday after I turned 25

Isn’t it funny how we love communion
Even though we don’t understand it much?

Driving home the trees created black against the sun and open fields
I know I want to go where You go.

I want- I admit- many things tonight. I am surprised by the tears that might come
If anyone else asks me about my birthday. my friends. the future.

But. The trees are holding out their arms together
In front of this orange light and my

memories of Your kindnesses.
They are singing.

A new corner I have turned with lines unfaltering
Your faithfulness reaches past my gaze- holds me fast, close in.

Breathe cold air. Bury my face under your wings.