I try to swallow heaven but my gulp isn’t large enough. So I constantly place You on my tongue because the tongue guides the body, the heart, the mind- tasting and seeing that the Lord is good.

And the wind tosses my hair around my face as I lean in to you- constantly grasping for the more of you. Because you are mysterious, I cover my eyes. Because you are wonderful, I lift up my feet and run to that place where you and I used to meet- when I was a pigtailed child chasing the wind and the butterflies and the woods. I would sit in our secret place and laugh while you taught me secrets of the universe.

Me, a child.

You, The Creator.

And I swallow, always swallow- tasting the sweetness of a good God in the wind.

In this secret place I am carefree. I don’t think of bills or periods or my weight or genocide or the national debt. In this place I am not tired.

I can simply “be” with the I AM because he told me to come just as I am.

And I gulp heaven, “More of you, God! More of you, God!”

I am a child, truly.

The wisdom of man is foolishness to God. My adult-self uttering speech that sounds so eloquent and veracious, is like a child playing “house.”

I will remember that next time, I tell myself.

And we use our plastic cups and fake plates to serve our sisters the fake chicken and peas and carrots and water. No sustenance. We’re just pretending, but He is beckoning us, the children, to the secret place where we gulp the true life-giving food.

Because He says He is the Bread of Life.

We all have a story that requires Bread – an event, an opening, a relationship, which leaves us raw and hungry for food. For me, it was my bitterness toward the church. I was starving at the bitter root, but still stuffing my face full of it. That’s what you do when there is injustice in the world, I told myself. You stuff your face full of it so you can feel.

Then I lost track of reality and lived in that world where I didn’t run to the secret place, but gulped anger.

I turned to the cynical-eyed because I was in their reflection.

The trees in the wooded secret place became metal bars and I stood still and yelled at You in my bondage.

Then you gave me a taste of your grace and I swallowed, shallowly at first. I did it again and again until I remembered you- a memory, like a monument, a taste. And I still cry “More of you!” as I learn to swallow deeply.