At a little wooden cabin, up in northern Minnesota, we ran together down to the dock, and you jumped right off it. And from out in the water, you called me to join you. I said "Baby I cannot swim; if I jump, I'll surely drowned you." You said, "Life has no limit, if you're not afraid to get in it." Oh baby, I jumped to you, since then there's nothing I can't do. I'm never going to give you up. Dear God, if you ain't got love. If you ain't got love, what do you got if you ain't got love?
Here this morning, these words have taken on a whole new wonderful depth. I have long struggled to conceptualize "God," who or what we mean when we use this name, and if we mean anything real at all. Hearing anew the story of a leap of faith into the places that scare us suddenly strikes me as an incredibly sacred story. That which beckons us to live the life we know we ought to be living, that which holds us in a loving embrace as we come forward with all our fears and uncertainties, that which moves us to act despite these, and that which offers a life of purpose and abundance here and now - that is the unfolding and inspiring Light that I shall call God.
As I have been challenged over the past week by decisions placed before me in my career, I have placed all my trust in living the authentic life that stays true to the Light, as best as I can discern. Through moments of uncertainty and difficulty, here I have found wisdom and solace. From out in the water, I see something renewed: maybe I have faith after all.
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