Communion

I'm the only one awake in my apartment right now.  The wind is whistling outside, rattling the glass windows against each other.  It's gray outside. Gray like a resting early morning, lulling you back to sleep in the coziness of a comfy bed.  It's gray like a blanket of wetness, the air is cool and damp, and the road is shining wet, and the colours of cars are brighter wet, and there world sounds different wet.

I look at the leftovers from last night: two mugs of grape juice on the living room table, a plate of crackers, a guitar next to the couch.  Extra chairs are pushed around the dining room table, which has a sparkly runner and glass candlesticks and paper hats left on it.  There's a basket of blankets, sweaters, toques and mittens on the ground beside the table left from yet another D-St welcome-to-the-team fire (not too major though).  I'm sitting on the couch, toes warm in wool socks, with a cup of tea, a clementine, and some cookies, listening to people wake up, completely at home.  

Sometimes I think I use the word love far to liberally.  I love this person, I love that feeling, I love these objects.  And I have to check my genuineness.  What does the word actually mean when I use it to say I love the combination of smiles, and light, and glass? Or that I love sharing food with friends - and at the fellowship that comes through it?  Or that I love having a crowded table, and listening to a conversation that flows to the most ridiculous places? Or that I love opening the door, and putting food on the table, and just being with people?

And it means that I love the pause it provides.  I see light shining here - my spirit is lifted, and it's a feeling that warms my heart.  I'm thankful for those moments.  I'm blessed by those people.  I experience pure joy.  I see God working. I hear Him speaking.  I'm learning who he has made me to be, and how he has made me to live.  

And sometimes it just means I'm laughing really hard, and nothing else seems to sum up my thoughts when friends are deciding what gender numbers are, or her surprise when the Christmas cracker popped, or their concern for various foreign objects being added to the beloved fish's home. 

When dinner was finished, we moved into a time of worship and prayer, and communion.  And that is the point.  It's not the presents and the fancy glasses and the silly hats and the decorations.  And it's not the food or the conversation or the laughter. 

 It's Him. 

 It's abiding and dwelling and breathing and living in, with, and for a King who humbled himself, and was born to us.

I am overwhelmed and softly held and completely in LOVE as I learn to hope - to eagerly expect God, to eagerly expect His presence, Him working, Him moving, Him changing, Him providing,  Him Preparing.  

I am amazed by the power and incredibly thankful and completely in LOVE as I experience His Peace in my life - the rain that washes all the junk away, His breath in me, His arms holding me, His voice in my ear - shhh.  

I am swept off my feet and surrounded by light and I'm completely in LOVE as I am flooded by His Joy - his joy that surprises me when I struggle, His creativity, His complexity, His plan for me, His heart for me. His presence with me. 

And this is really LOVE.  This baby king, who would live and demonstrate and speak and inspire and die, and rise to bring full LIFE.  And this is LOVE, that perfect in every way, his Body was pierced for my transgressions, broken for me.  And his blood was shed for me.  And I am forgiven, wholly.  I am loved, entirely.  

And this is what we share and celebrate together.