Jesus Loved the Wind

 

What is it about the wind, anyway?

It comes and goes like the things you missed out of the corner of your eye—

The things you wish you hadn’t forgotten:

Things that weren’t there when you woke up in the night, but you so wished they had been;

Things that once turned your heart upside down, making you stop in your tracks for just one second.

Things that you laid to rest and walked away, when it didn’t matter whether you looked back or not.

 

What is it about the wind anyway?

It cuts through the buttons on your coat, leaving the smell of wind in your clothes—

So that when you pass by, people pause for a moment without knowing why.

It bends things that have no choice but to bend, or else they’ll break.

It breathes over the hill and down, bringing a faint, thrilling breeze to where you sit, waiting.

It goes where you’ve never been, and where you’ll never go again, blowing past all your regrets.

 

What is it about the wind anyway?

It brings the most momentous messages, reminding you of all you know and all you never knew—

but always in a language you don’t understand.

 

What is it about the empty wind?

Why does it remember all the things that never came to be?

Why does it take all the truth you ever knew and sweep it away into the unfilled air?

Why does it chill the tears on your face, as if cold comfort is all it knows?

Why does it walk where it walks—

Down the turning years, and down the days of your life, always going past, never stopping?

 

It’s as if all the things we always knew were still things that we needed to be told—

As if Love, riding hidden in the wind, doesn’t care what we know and what we don’t.