Present Over Perfect

and rescue and rescue, and then bring me to safety, despite
my faithlessness, despite my failure.
This makes me wonder, of course, about all of
Scripture... how many other stories have I twisted to tell my
own story? How many images of God have I constructed
out of my own wounds? And what would happen if I
stepped inside of them like I did this one and found the
narrative fundamentally altered?
Thank God for that gentle priest, for a tribe that gathers
on Sunday nights, for the ancient tradition of the prayer of
imagination. Sometimes we read the same passages all our
lives without realizing we’ve rewritten them in our own
images. How much more beautiful is our God when we free
him from our own wounds and tired narratives.
Tonight, as I fall asleep, I’ll picture myself walking on
water. And then I’ll picture myself being rescued.