Breathing

We all start out so small, so insignificant to the world, yet so hopelessly important to two people.  This irony of existence, beginning before we begin ourselves, it calls for a mind far greater than mine, yet here I am, trying to explain it.  Before I was, I existed in a heart, a mind, a thought.

And now the entirety of my existence, of yours, hangs on the experiences we have had, on the heartaches we have born, on the creations of moments that hang suspended in my soul, and in yours.  We watch painfully, as the days float by, waiting for the place where we can breathe again.

When I breathe, I find myself shocked at the life-giving force in the air which rushes through my being.  Is it just air I'm breathing, or am I breathing in life?  Am I breathing in spirit, renewing my mind by the transforming grace of the God I live for?

Perhaps that's the majesty of the moment, of existence itself, that it's not about dealing with the moment, about the problems we face, or the chaos of current events.  It's the grace for existence, that we are all still here, still breathing, still alive, and we barely even chose it.

So we write love.  We hope life.  We create stories by breathing.

Are you breathing?