Oh Pioneer: Song of the Unseen by Annie Jones as Featured in The Pioneer Issue

Song of the Unseen by Annie Jones

A child does not wait to be born head first into the world. A mother, in labor, waits for her beloved child’s arrival by gripping with great faith in anticipation for the miracle. Within a series of movements of refined pain and waiting, to be named “mother” is more than broken body and yearning. It is her deep wish to belong to something.

A farmer waits patiently, anticipating the heads of vegetables to burst from the earth. He distributes seeds in order to receive proper sunlight and water. The rest is waiting for good growth and harvest.

He who is the faithful tender of God’s earth is sure to be down-trot by unanticipated drought from a rainless sky.

Please come.

Please be in this place.

We are nothing without You.

Fill the empty space with good.

And still, within drought, hope is held onto. The giant blanket of blue will soon unfurl what God promised to begin with: a Harvest! Raindrops fall from the sky and a single squash, body glimmering boldly in the hundred miles of tilled earth, reveals itself. The farmer is thankful for the small bounty of Hallelujah You’ve Been Faithful Again.

“God always finds a way to deliver oceans of rain when our faith, for a moment, wavers.”

Show us the way.

Beads of water break open onto the mess of soil beds, flowing as small, holy inlets quenching the earth’s thirst. Farmer professes his thanks to the heavens; arms wide open, biting into the succulent moment of blessing. Creator nods His head in pleasure as juice drips from the chin. Farmer smiles a heavenly curve as wide as the Pacific Ocean. He says,

“Thank You.”

God returns,

“Pioneer, thank you for arriving here.”

The present moment is all: pregnant with honest emotion and possibility, ushering us from thing to thing as world of people unintended for hurry. We, as people of peace, are asked to deliver what is good to other cities, over distant horizons. We are not to carry good blessings in haste. But instead, slowly.  Slowly as the river turns, steady down the stream we go.

Beloved, Just Be.

The present moment offers us lenses, a way to view our world as children fascinated by existence. A heavenly perspective of world, enamored with light dancing through trees and on skin. We are children rubbing away sedated slumber from our seeking eyes made for Awe. We are travelers in search of buried wonder. Here and Now hands us floorboards for foundation, vital items. For navigating and building and growing into the way ahead.

The way ahead.

Into the unknown.

We are offered cornucopias of blessing in the Now. Much awareness of the journey lingers in the still, kind air. This moment is swimming with opals and rubies and if we would just dive in, we would see. This wealth stream of benediction, this moment, drives our eyes far from fearing tumultuous terrain. We dive into this Holy River of wonder and are ready for ascending the mountains ahead. Us, as people of peace, wish to see the whole world dance and move in joy and belonging. Therefore, we speak,

“Come along.  It is this way, Beloved Pioneer.

Come close to this Story.”

We gather around firelight, together, coaxing our wild mouths wanting answers. Our stories, we pry the lips of oysters open, children seeking pearls. We seek to see that our stories have already been written. And the way ahead unfolds by walking.

Hallelujah.

The hearth of flickering warmth between us is communion, teaching us the true backbone of Thanksgiving as fire glows. We are students of gratitude. We are bearers of it. Thanksgiving is why we are here. To say Thank You to Great God and all He has intended for us to discover, the gardens in us where all windswept mountains turn to arrival. God scraped the dirt from the earth and made all things beautiful.

It is a grand celebration; a feast intended for all, an invitation worth passing along, this True Life we are offered. God wishes to see each of us bring along our most favorite dish to the dancing, to the wild party that is our existence. God wants us to show up, plates full of fine flavors, ready to feed the miles of hungry.

You have much to offer.

Offer freely what you hold most dear.

Some of us are violins inside this grandiose symphony of tide being pulled by moon. Others, in this world, are pianos. And their children, rainbow xylophones and tambourines ringing all around; playing heavenly music. Us as children, wide eyed with wonder, rise from our slumber and allow truth as melodies to permeate our every movement.

This is why we are here.

To dance and give thanks and invite others in.

The way forward, through the jaws of uncertainty, is to sing as we travel this uncharted way of trust. We grab hold of Love’s hands and dance, shaking the burdens away like plum trees shedding autumn leaves. There is no other way to live but this one. Consistent renewal. Hallelujah for the growing.

This is the True Journey.

What better way to learn the many languages of our drumming hearts than by trusting as a child would? To the drum, drum, drum of our beating world. We travel the great neck of infinite coastline, dressed in white, as Pioneers lighting the way for lost ones. With Thanksgiving on the lips, we are slaves no longer. Fear no more, legs kissed by white sea water.

It is this way, Beloved.

Here you will be found.

It has been said before: Love knocks on our doors for thousands of light years before we one day answer. There are things to be said about True Existence. It is mysterious, precious. Our voices are but warm breezes moving through orchards. We are passing rays of light, holding much purpose. We are momentary.

Let the light in.

Budge the door handle. Say to Love, finally,

“Come in.

Take up residence in this seeking heart made for wonder.”

Love sustains our hungered spirits, all days ahead. White washed and clean in the name of believing: we are guaranteed a good flight. It is a wild flight forward, gentle sparrow. Hold tight.

It is a good, good journey.

We walk through this life as holy monuments, throwing dinner parties for miracles in our backyards strung with fairy lights. We decorate empty rooms with our purposeful voices, all colors on the walls, prisms reflecting and accepting light. This is the true commodity of an intention-filled life. Perhaps transforming monotonous moments into miracles is what our hands and imaginations are made for. The slow, turning river of life trickling by as reminder: the precious arrival a moment holds. We are lampposts lighting the way for lost and curious ones. Saying,

“It is this way, Pioneer.

The Good Life begins Here.”

This manna, falling from sky as promise, is enough to satisfy our hungry lips. Mouths begging for more. Spirit breathing,

There is plenty.

How mystery sustains the most savage of a soul.

Come close to this, Pioneer.

Learn the language of your seeking, savage heart.

It is true water we are searching for. The infinite coast of shoreline, white sand dotted with sea glass. Color of cobalt, dusk, rose flecked cheeks of a child. Lapping waves of ocean helps focus the eyes of a hungry, seeking world. To see what we are made for: breaking bread and drinking wine underneath stars with our Creator. A shared communion of enoughness. Giving thanks for our unknowing of the gentle way ahead, unfolding as we sing through momentary mystery. The journey. There is nothing more spectacular to belong to. The search is over. Hallelujah.

Come into the light.

Perhaps there are Promise Lands within each of us. God, faithful, led the Israelites through mourning and cold nights. Through desperate wishes to return home to the familiar, He led them on towards something better. Through trial, they sang. He waved banners of True Riches in the distance, ushering them towards their Land of Milk and Honey. The way unfolding, hungry as they walked, manna for the mystery. The slow turn of True Inheritance unfolding, a river, carrying them far from captivity. An oasis was born in each of their hearts. They tasted water. They tasted what was good and traveled on, towards a world they could not see but surely felt stirring deep inside.

We are heading in the right direction, brave travelers.

Clinging close to what is truest, bells ringing within our hearts. The music of a heart unhurried is satisfied melody, guiding the way through unmapped journeys of grace. Heaven reaches down with its long, ivory arms to deliver:

We are not far from glory.

We are always a hairsbreadth from witnessing a miracle.

Come close.

This is what we are made for.

This, always arrival.

Unplanned arrangements of splendor.

We are intended for the Promise Land, Land of Milk and Honey sitting still, untouched, within us.  Milk and Honey, enchantment of a better life, thumps against our chests as wedding bells. The enchantment of a better life wanting to become One in all moments. A collision of dreams, faith, reality. Shatter the barricades of a stand-still life. This wonder, it is meant for us.

Trust.

Swallowing mysterious manna when every fiber of our bodies wants to give up, Spirit sings on:

God, what are we building, what are we traveling towards?

Something beautiful.

Are you sure?

Child, yes.

Pioneer, rest.

We are tethered to truth; never to know what miracles our foolish faith will yield. God hands us bricks and we, as children, bicker the building. We fight the journey in fear of being forgotten.

The gentle Voice speaking is good.

Love will not leave; it will lead.

We take up our baskets that hold constellations of promise, peace, scattering them across dark edges. We walk along nations, rivers, continents as people who are cutting away tall grass, what is blinding to the eyes of wonder. We, Pioneers moving, are raising a grand oasis in this place. The curious ones will say,

“I was so thirsty.

How did you know I was looking for something to drink?

Us as children, awestruck with wonder, say,

We are quenched by Love’s mystery.”

Wind moves in the treetops and our honest voices are enough.

“Love, how did you know what we were looking for?”

Eyes are blind in the best way towards what we cannot see. Thankful, wild crops strewn about a field represent a Good Journey, well walked faithfully. We are children, arms outstretched wide, traveling towards the sun and a future Home still unseen.

You are right where you need to be in order to begin something beautiful.

Something beautiful indeed.

Read more inspiring stories in The Pioneer Issue, now on news stands!

Artistic CreditsPhotography by Kelbert McFarland Creative Direction by Abby Rose Henry Clothing + Accessories by Little Black Dress