by Josh Huber

Abandon control all who enter here. So advises the writer. We want to brush against the hem of the Lord, she adds. 

So here is the air, coffee-scented, in which I sit plush and pushing my rear into a tan sofa trying to abandon control. 


Like a lump? A bit of dust windblown? A house pet well accustomed to content? A mountain accepting the horizon? Sky dressed for today’s particular weather? 

I want to relinquish control like that. Or try. Or not try. Let matter, light and dark, carry me along as if non-sentient, as if on the waters, bread cast there, going and returning without question–coming back soggy as my crust allows, duck-nibbled, fish-prodded, good still, perhaps, for the celestial soup. 

Abandon control. For all time and space, all energy and matter are God’s; and all time and space, all energy and matter are finally one. 

Well. I wonder then–in all my grasping for control, in my losing, in my rare letting go–if I ever arrive, finally arrive. 

Do I ever–in the vastness of time and space; no beginning and no end, among impossible coordinates–arrive to be, to simply be with you, God? That is with you, still and utterly full of the knowledge that you are? 

If so, I’d like to remember that arrival in the midst of trying to abandon control. Yes, I’d like to remember that arrival and consider it with a smile. 

A soul-deep smile knowing our great hope is this: someday we will all arrive (and are arriving and have arrived) together. Not in the same moment (though the separation of moments does not matter), not to the same space (though all space is chiming as many clocks in time), but there together in the presence of the One who was and is and is to come, everywhere always all at once, calling us each by name, our Lord and our God. 

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