Morning snuggles before the sunlight hits our eyes, tracing your lips, your nose, your cheek bones
A practice I’ve adopted so that even if I lose my eyesight I might still recognize you
And isn’t that as sacred an act as letting my eyes wander down a psalm to start my day?
She makes me lie down in green pastures…
The breakfast I cook for us to start our days with good food, eggs with egg whites for protein, a pancake high in fiber, and fruit, with a pour over from your personal barista
And isn’t that as sacred an act as communion?
This is my body, my blood, eat and drink this in remembrance of me…
The sandwich piled high with your favorite black forest ham, gently placed in the ziplock container with a post-it to bring a smile to your face at work
And isn’t that as sacred an act as feeding the hungry?
What you do unto the least of these…
The hellos we say when we arrive home at the end of the day, echoing down the hallway spilling into our cups
And isn’t that as sacred an act as worship?
Come thou fount of every blessing…
The kiss goodnight before turning over, my lips searching for yours in the dark of our safe room
All this is sacred, holy, blessed
And yet doomed for an eternity in hell for not being the correct flavor of sacred
I would spend a million lifetimes sacredly in hell if it were with you.
I know it's late in the game, but what 👏🏼 Bree 👏🏼 said 👏🏼. Absolutely stunning, I will remember this and refer to it as I explore the meaning of love, of life itself 🤍