As a daughter of the fringes I see others on the fringe and I long to bring them in; all I want to do is have them nestle in the bosom of the mother church.
It is His vehicle to bring the Light, but more over it is His Bride in which He reveals Himself like none other.
I desire to gather the fringes in, to be hidden in Her wings; wrapped in the warmth of her candlelight.
I remember entering her doorways, laying down the garments of the past. Taking off the coat of isolation, it's ragged sleeves with worn out holes would no longer allow the brutal winter wind to penetrate in to my very skin. Instead I would be offered a cloak of fellowship, of diversity, of hope - though it's shape would often be strange, and it's material not always comfortable, the warmth was unlike any other.
See I long to raise my kin in this place.
It is under the rafters of that cathedral,
In the pews of this steeple,
At the altar of the temple
that I long to bring the lost sons and daughter; for it is a safe and sacred place.
Please know my beloveds it is not always beautiful.
Community is messy, and sometimes downright hard.
You don't think like me, and I don't talk like you.
But we share a bond higher than our skin and bones,
and yet is in these broken bodies Christ finds His home.
So walk with me a while,
dredge through these muggy waters,
fight for understanding, and hold-fast to hope.
We may sing different harmonies,
but we are joining the same song.
A daughter of the fringes I may be,
But is in this place, this Church, that I am me.
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