I won't ever forget what our Pastor mentioned one Sunday, months ago.
In talking about communion he made this statement:
The tabernacle must move to the table if we are going to have authenticity
This is my heart.
To find people who see through the veil, those that help tear it down.
The ones who see you stripped bare, vulnerable, real.
And who break bread, and give thanks, and love deep.
I am grateful, beyond thankful that I am surrounded by women who are willing to journey an authentic walk with me.
Sometimes the walking is wobbly, or it's running, or it's the collapsing in the middle of the path, weak and spent. But these friends see the going. And make me braver.
There's nothing shallow here. The Church is us, His daughters.
Bruised and tired, stronger together, breaking bread and giving thanks.
Bringing the tabernacle to the table, amongst friends, sisters.
And this is grace.
These were my favourite moments from the weekend.
The ones where conversation could go from silly and fun, and sidesplittingly hilarious, to solemn and deep, heartbreaking, and back again.
The wine, and passing the bread, and realising that this is communion!
A bubbling up of thanks for Jesus, for each other.
In a way that was authentic, and raw. Vulnerable and true. Not religious.
Oh God we have so much to learn about You and the way things should be.