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Transitions.
Sun to stars.
Day to night.
Waking to sleeping.
Lunch to dinner.
Tadpole to frog.
Kindergarten to first grade.
High school to college.
College to graduation.
Graduating to a future
that's got the fingerprints of God all over it.
Yet sometimes, I see my fingerprints mixed in with his, too.
There are stages of my life
where I see more of his love than mine,
and more of his breath than mine.
Then, there are those times
that are far and few in between
where I see a mixture and cannot tell
if they are mine
or his.
This is the place I find myself in now.
A place of transition to myself and God,
to the "we" in a team of partners,
to the hands that are held together by the bonds from birth.
to the pair of footprints that are marked in the sand.
In the seasons, he is always there.
When I imitate the disciples lack of trust
in my storms raging on the seas,
he is there.
When I doubt or question,
he is there.
When I ask, "what next?"
he is there.
When I say I won't betray you
and do,
he is there.
I walk on a dark and uncertain path
and you light the way for me.
I cry bucketfuls of pain for a world so broken and
you weep alongside me.
With a touch of a finger,
you move the hair out my eyes and
gently caress my face.
You beckon me to stretch me out my hand to you,
and I obey.
You place a ring on my finger, give me a robe, and sandals for my feet.
I look up into your eyes
and realize
I am home.

(copyright by alex puleo 10.29.11)