Long have I called this land "home" - the place of comforts and covers, of full closets and stomachs and bookshelves and journals. Meticulously have I guarded the elements of my home, building it up, polishing it like a mirror until it reflects back to me the life I once hoped to live.
But early mornings betray me. I wake up slow, and draw the curtains back letting the light pour through the cracking panes in dregs. This "home" is full. And yet in the margins of my heart I know …
I am not yet Home. The sunlight that lights it only reminds me there is a place beyond the horizon. As early rays blind my morning vision, I become aware once again that I have earthly eyes that cannot see. Each step, each measure of the day, recalls the reality that I am a sojourner eagerly waiting to be called upward, forward, Homeward.
The aches of morning are aches not only to be called, but for the Calling One. I wait, I listen, I pause and press my ears to the pages of His promises. These hands are aging and these lips still fumble, but the ancient Text that passes between them speak future and delight and fullness in the land that will be because that land is the space He occupies fully; the place where the looming Lord of life will embody all holiness and hope.
And oh, how my heart aches with rejoicing. Because these feeble hands consistently cause destruction and these latent lips rend hearts by nature. The morning sun reveals every flaw, every wound, every inch of untread inner territory … and again I am reminded, when He calls me to His country, even these will be subdued in the masterful way of His holiness.
Even this.
Even these.
No ache is beyond His mending, no measure of brokenness is beyond His insistence of holiness.
Come soon, Lord Jesus.
Philippians 3:20-21
No comments:
Post a Comment
Leave me a peice of your heart's ponderings: