There is Honey in the Comb

(A Poetic Offering for Luke 15:1-10)

The celebration doesn't begin

with arrival.

It begins the moment

someone refuses to stop looking.

That's when the fire is lit.

That's when the circle forms.

The shepherd paces.

The family keeps the door cracked.

The child lights a candle in the window.

Bee-boxes rise like miracles from floodwater.

And love finding you, wraps you up.

Love says,

"You're not lost. You're missed."

Love says,

"You're not forgotten. You're waited for."

Love says,

"Come home. We must throw a feast

not because you were gone—

but because you are here."

(Even when you come back

smelling like sheep and storm.)

Even if you forgot

where the path once was.

Even if you forgot

that return isn’t just walking back.

It’s remembering

that you were never lost.

Love says,

Beloved, you are light in the dark,

you are the Flame of Love,

waiting to be lit.

Love says, look—

Little miracles are buzzing about.

Love says, come—

There is honey in the comb.

There is cider and a blanket by the fire.

There is a God

who never forgets you.

with Love from Sarah and Holy One Who Remembers Us