Not law, but location.
Not demand, but union.
A thought that found me on the drive to pick up Maddie for fencing—
somewhere between the first sip of coffee
and the sun deciding to show up.
This morning I began thinking about the Ten Commandments—
not as rules or divine threats,
but as a map of spiritual geography.
A way God keeps us from wandering too far
from the place God already is.
Not instructions for obedience,
but invitations to remain in union.
No other gods.
No idols.
Not jealousy.
Proximity.
Don’t look for Me outside.
Don’t reduce Me to something you can hold.
Don’t exile the Holy from where I placed it—
in you.
And suddenly the others felt different too:
Honor where you came from—
not because it’s perfect,
but because belonging needs roots.
Do not kill—
do not sever the thread of life that runs through you
and everyone else.
Do not adulterate love—
hold sacred the covenants that hold you.
Do not steal—
the soul shrinks when it takes what grace never offered.
Do not lie—
communion breaks long before relationships do.
Do not covet—
the moment you believe grace lives elsewhere,
you lose sight of the grace holding you now.
None of it landed like law today.
It sounded more like guidance—
a way back to where God lives.
Ways to stay in the field of grace,
in the pulse of union,
in breath-returning-to-breath presence.
Christ not as exception, but reminder.
Not as requirement, but rhythm.
A soft voice beneath it all:
Stay close.
Stay true.
Stay here.
Not because God leaves—
but because sometimes we do.
A gentle question for your day
Where are you tempted to search for God outside yourself?
What if God is already home, waiting to be remembered?
The commandments were never meant to stay on the mountain.
What was written in stone was always waiting to be remembered in spirit.
Follow the law as it softens into light,
as history becomes memory,
and grace finds its home again within.
Continue the journey in
The Commandments Remembered