The in between

I’ve been sitting with the reality of what it means to live in the in-between.

There’s a word for that space: liminal. It means the threshold, the crossing place. Not where you started, not yet where you’re going. Just… between.

That’s where I’ve lived for a long time—between grief and hope, memory and mission. And it’s exactly where grace keeps showing up. Not in the clarity, but in the ache. Not in the certainty, but in the stillness.

I wrote this poem as a way to name that place. It’s where I still meet God. It’s where Joshua’s memory lives. And it’s where the call to serve others continues to grow.

The Space Between

for Joshua, for the walk, for the waiting

I walk between the then and now,

Where silence speaks, and I still bow.

The doors behind are closed and gone,

Yet something keeps me holding on.

Not past, not future—this is air

Too thick with love to not be prayer.

A voice I knew, a name I miss—

Still echoes softly in the midst.

I live where longing finds its place,

Where grief and grace still share a face.

This weight I bear, I will not trade—

It shaped the man that love has made.

Don’t ask me why I can’t let go—

Some things we’re not meant not to know.

For what I hold, still holds me too,

And pulls me toward what’s strong and true.

And when I speak of grace that finds,

Of roads that wind, of sacred signs—

I do so not from knowing much,

But from the places God still touched.

So if I pause here, in-between,

It’s not because I’m lost or mean.

It’s that the cross was planted there—

And resurrection meets me where

The past and future seem to strain—

And Jesus weeps and walks again.

He calls me not to let it go—

But let it grow. And let it flow.

Maybe you’re in a liminal place, too.

Not sure what’s next. Not able to forget what came before.

If so, you’re not alone.

That space between? It’s holy ground.

God still moves there. Grace still flows there.