Fire at first ignites from within,
with the voice of St. Catherine of Siena:
“Be who God meant you to be
and you will set the world on fire.”
The warmth develops in my chest
like a photograph in a tray slowly appears
under the red glow of a darkroom bulb;
then it is time for the sun to rise.
We capture the moments of expanding light
the way a tiny child chases butterflies,
intent on growing up to be a world changer.
We watch every adjusting movement of sky;
slow amber on the horizon
like the burning charcoal of
the final remains of last night’s fire.
And then the darkness mixes
with stars and deep sleep,
before we awake to the approaching light
of long awaited Good News.
I’ve been searching for the fairy tale ending,
“And they lived happily ever after.”
When we actually need to return to
“Once upon a time…”
I will cease looking for the elusive
pot of gold at the end of someone else’s rainbow.
When in fact the gold is rising now,
falling into my lap, circumnavigating my soul,
tingling the fan of my writing fingers,
turning photographs into memories.
Yes, the lantern of the sun
is floating across the fringes of morning,
carrying the prayers of all the world
above the widening brim of the ocean,
as the first light of Easter Sunday appears.
The face of the One
whispers over the smouldering embers
inside of me, breathing them back to flame
with a cool birdsong breath from the sea.
And telling me better stories
that start with, “In the beginning…”
and finish with “Maranatha, come Lord Jesus, come!”
I do not have to wait for another day, another year,
another time for you to come,
because you arrive here and now,
into my life with the listening
deep, soft groaning, of the prayers
I pray into the great anticipation of you.
You take a picture of me, burning with your fire.
And I realise I am coming alive,
and you have come.
Yes, you have come to me.