dream anchors

it’s funny how in the midst of such beautiful chaos I am occasionally given or latch onto such small, comforting anchors. I haven’t a clue what to do after graduation, but I know the city of Philadelphia has wiggled its way into my heart. I know this. When asked to describe my dream job, my mind still catapults ideas in countless different directions, but there is one thing I do know. I know that I want to give communion. big whoop, you say. you already hold the bread or the cup sometimes, that counts, right? you say.
No, it is deeper than those things. I want to issue that invitation. I want to stand there and break the bread and pour the wine and tell over and over the story of the soul food Jesus shared with his disciples. I want to invite people into the ultimate communion—with God, themselves, and their neighbors. I want to invite people to the deepest way of ‘coming home’, I want to play hostess to the most important meal.
I keep coming back to this invitation as a song, for some reason. I want to spend my life singing that song, that song of invitation and inclusion and hospitality. If I did nothing else in this life—if I never picked up another paintbrush or theological text or stick of charcoal, if I never committed my life to a good man or had children, if I never got published—if I simply were allowed to ‘write out loud’ the Lover’s call to the table…
If I could do that, I would feel as if I had fulfilled at least part of the reason I was created.
And that’s the kind of realization that rings deep and true in the pit of your stomach, the kind of moment that rings clear and loud like church bells on Christmas morning. It’s unarguable in its clarity, and for me, anyway, is a really huge thing to say, to put down in words.

that kind of knowing, i wish for you,
becca