My fingers are rusty. Rusty from the residue thrust on me, from past seasons, uncertainties lingering in the crevasses of a mind that can’t understand…
What is coming tomorrow.
I have a song, but the news has seemed to have stole it. The layers of media, cold technology and frozen expose’s have hindered me from singing it.
Will we still rise tomorrow?
My heart has a drum. A drum that beats at the rhymn of a tune, others know nothing about. And I have two choices in whitewashing the doubt…
Will I hear it? Or will the troubles of tomorrow try to muffle my mouth?
I have tried to find Him on the mountaintop.
I have walked through the woods and reached for him with trembling hands where the sky meets the rising land. The shivering cold opens up the sky…
In summer.
Yet, even there, I connect with nature. But He is deeper.
He is whispering, “Here I am.”
I see their faces, the laughter which used to thrust me to the throneroom, reminding me of my maker.
And, there is life.
Yet, still He whispers, “Here I am.”
Like childhood games of hide-and-seek, I ask Him, “Where are you, God?”
Until I race to my knees.
The Broken Place.
Where my head lays below my heart, my face bows down to the ground I was made from.
“Dust of dust”.
Something familiar washes over me.
Something strange and holy, overwhelming. Like a mighty wave washing the filthy debris of yesterday away.
And it is there, I lie in connected, unadultered power.
It is there no words are due, no rusty hands, or broken heart matter.
It is there, I see His face.
The come-near Jesus who took my place, when I should have been stripped and nailed. When I was the one guilty, and He alone innocent…
When I owed Him everything and He owed me nothing.
All childish antics crumble on my knees. All pretense and pompousness, callousness and self-centeredness bow, like the lake the disciples rowed upon.
“Be still.”
I hear Him in the stillness of time.
And the noise from existence washes me away like rain.
I feel Him, not like some robotic statue, standing in church, standing and sitting in emotionless obedience, without feeling or thinking.
But like power rushing across me, like a hurricane flooding me, like a fire burning in me.
All of me silent at His weight.
“Here I am.”
I have found Him.
“Here I am.”
He has found me.
“Here I am.”
Not in the earthquakes and thunderstorms, not on the mountaintops, or others wanting things….But here.
Empty hands held high to the sky.
Here.
Where life and it’s rollercoasters stop, and I surrender my spirit back to the Holy One who made me.
Dust of dust.
Who can find us, but our Creator?
Flesh, no more.
And yet, we scale mountains and try to explore God in us, God all around us…
When, finding Him always leads us lower.
Worldly goods; futile in His presence, powerless near His goodness.
Face-to-face.
That holy moment when we will account for everything…
Every word we say.
Time.
What will we have done with it?
Space.
How will we have filled it?
I see the past flashing like a tunnel outside time.
Time. What will we have done with this life He has given us?
Did we waste it? Did I waste it?
Or did I press on, hard and fast, towards the things that are eternal?
Did I give of my being, pouring out my life like the blood He shed for my redemption?
And did I offer my all, or did I hold back?
Did I question? Hesitate?
Was I frozen in trepidation because I didn’t want to make a mistake?
Or did I push? Push through the doubt, the uncertainty, the lies and the fears…The enemy used as a weapon in an attempt to destroy me?
Did I know, I was a warrior for Him?
Did I “get”, my life is sweeter when He alone leads it? Did I fully surrender to the grace that He has given?
Did I walk as he directed me? Did I tune my ear carefully and constantly to that voice in the dark…
“Here I am”?
He sought me.
Was I running to Him or away from Him?
How did I spend my hours?
Were they full and useful, for others or for my own indulgences?
Did I die daily to self in order to live for Christ?
Did I “go” as He called? Far and wide, wild and free?
Or did I wait, for the right moment and position, in order to lead in my own strength?
I am but a vapor.
You are too.
We are nothing, if not His.
We are weak.
Any power we’ve been given, only comes from Him.
All man’s teaching and “wisdom” is futile in light of His glory, His wisdom and knowledge and power…
Takes us to places we could never go ourselves.
His vision is deep, wide.
His promises are more vast than we could imagine, if we closed our eyes to dream.
We are not our own.
We were bought at a price. Bondservants. Walking in obedience…
To the King of Kings. The Glorious One. Our Mighty Father.
The Good, Good Shephard.
The friend of sinners….
Who says, “Here I am.”
Hoping we’ll come to Him in faith and with empty hands…
Arms out wide.
Like He did…
As He hung in obedience on that tree.
