Arrival

The Process of Formation

I was on my way to an election —
not the loud kind,
not banners and slogans,
but the quieter one
“Before I formed you in the womb, I knew you;
before you were born, I set you apart.” (Jeremiah 1:5)

I had not applied.
I had not prepared.
Still, an invitation arrived in my hands.

It spoke of faithfulness —
not brilliance,
not speed,
but the long obedience of showing up.
Of work done in secret,
where the Father who sees in secret
is the only witness required.

I thought I might need to read it aloud,
thought I might have to justify my self.
But the door stood open already.

“You did not choose Me,”
the old words breathed beneath the moment,
“but I chose you,
and appointed you to bear fruit —
fruit that would last.” (John 15:16)

I was driven there
by an earlier weather of my life —
a season of rough roads and raised voices,
where respect was scarce
and movement was mistaken for calling.

The car was old.
It rattled with memories.
Yet it still moved,
useful for a time,
never meant to be permanent.

I changed my clothes.
“Put off the old self,”
the instruction whispered,
“which belongs to your former way of life,
and be renewed in the spirit of your mind.” (Ephesians 4:22)

I did not dress for power.
I dressed for truth.

I laid aside the names
given to me by conflict,
the postures learned for survival,
the armour I kept wearing
after the battle had already passed.

I wore the ordinary uniform:
cloth and thread,
dust and breath.

A name across the chest
that spoke of healing —
where land meets sea,
where brokenness meets mercy,
where “a bruised reed is not broken
and a smouldering wick is not snuffed out.” (Isaiah 42:3)

New jeans — not for display,
but for readiness.

“Clothe yourselves, with compassion, humility, gentleness, and patience.” (Colossian 3:12)

No robes of status.
No armor of fear.
Only coherence —
inner and outer
finally agreeing.

The vehicle had served its hour.
Like Moses at the border,
it could take me near,
but not carry me across.

When the air grew loud.
What was hidden was revealed.
What was buried stirred.

“For there is nothing concealed
that will not be disclosed,” (Matthew 10:26)

Old powers with familiar names:
accusation, division, fear.
Now exposed.

I remembered:
“Our struggle is not against flesh and blood.” (Ephesian 6:12)

I rise.
Not in spectacle.
Not in striving.
But in alignment.

“Those who wait for the Lord
shall renew their strength;
they shall mount up with wings like eagles.” (Isaiah 40:31)

Not every battle is entered,
some conflicts lose their power
when altitude is gained.

“Stand firm,”
the counsel says,
not advance,
not attack —
simply stand.

Some struggles are resisted.
Others are outgrown.

The soul learns discernment.
The soul reaches new heights.

And the election —
the true one —
is not decided by the noise of the crowd,
but by who remains standing
when the dust settles,
having done everything to stand,
clothed not in disguise
but in truth,

answering only to the voice
that called them
before the road,
before the letter,
before the changing of clothes,

the voice that says:
“Well done —
not because you were seen,
but because you were faithful.”