In an age where one does not know the name of the family next door.

Where the doors are locked and the intentions of the walker are not assumed as so by the watchful eye.

In an age where the neighbor dies

And is not realized until the new ones move in.

In an age where the widow shovels her own drive

And one does not have the lender of the egg or the cup of milk.

In an age where the giggling streets are quieted

And the training wheels deemed too much a risk.

In an age where families eat alone in their sealed kingdom

The moat, their own indifference to invite another to commune.

For fear.  Fear of being known.  Fear of knowing.  Fear of vulnerability and disappointment.

Relationships come by way of intentionality.

In an age where the pursuer has to decipher the intentions of a friendship

The feelings, whatever they may be, by the emoticon, the exclamation point, and the like.

In an age where the break between two is simply just buttons and a screen away

Where the boy hides behind the screen, no risk of rejection, so to say.

In an age where tea time and” let’s have coffee” have to be carved into the schedule.

The horse that saddles the rider.

In an age where idle time is dreaded, because it brings out the discomfort of reality,

That one does not know what to do with another, unless they are entertained.

In an age where two lovers settle for the wireless space between and the memory of what used to be

As the heart dies for lack of cultivation and sunlight.

For fear.  Fear of being known.  Fear of knowing.  Fear of vulnerability and disappointment.

Why is it, that we rarely treasure that connection anymore?

Why is it acceptable that a father describes his son by what he is scheduled to and not by his heart?

Why is it tolerated that a family of four sit at a restaurant and the only spoken word is the order?

If it takes a village, what does it mean that we cannot even sit across a table and carry on the matters of the heart, looking each other in the eye?

Why is it that the mother asks the teacher how he is going to teach her daughter how to be a homemaker, a mother?

Why is it ignored that society is crumbling, but many a finger are pointing at another, longing for a program to save it all?

For fear.  Fear of being known.  Fear of knowing.  Fear of vulnerability and disappointment.

So, my son, my brother, my sister, my fellow traveler on this hamster wheel,

Let us be radical.  Let us change.  Let us create change.

Let us be intentional in each other’s life.  In our relationships with those who matter, who should be dear.

Let us cast off our fear of risk.  Create opportunities to cultivate, to peel back the layers.  To expose what longs for light.

Let us be part in the shaping of each other’s hearts.  The sharpening of each other’s souls.

For in the end we will be defined by not that which burns, but by how we poured our souls into another.

Let us learn to let go of our selfs, of that which saddles us, of our fears, and daily choose to wildly risk what has too long been guarded,

Our……hearts.

2 thoughts on ““The Saddled Rider”

  1. Happy to come across another Facebook friend that is a blogger! Beautifully written. These are all things heavy on my heart as well. Currently writing a chapter on distraction for the book I’m working on. My one word for this year is risk, so I especially liked the end!

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