God’s Word is the lamp that enlightens what we are reluctant to awaken.
The Word is before us like a mirror, a receding reflection – the already confessing, hoping, and praying into the not yet.
We open Scripture and soak in its perfect radiance; divine words received into mind and heart and expressed back to heaven as an echo, a faint whisper of truth harmonizing He in me. His voice, my desire. Surely this is who I am if there is nothing left of me. The image only God can see, what He made me to be. Nothing but a child, His child. Simple. Pure. Free.
My soul cries and longs deeply. I believe God listens and helps me. I had to learn to let go so the Everlasting Arms could catch me and cradle me in unfailing love. He teaches me trust in the fall, in the dark, where the hope of His Word is the only light.
How can my eyes be haughty if I cannot see? How can my heart be proud if it’s empty? What does a child want but a mother’s melody?
I feel God in the fog because God is the fog, as God is everything, and here His unknowable nature almost makes sense; in the fog it doesn’t matter what I do not see or I cannot hear, because of the wondrous cloud that surrounds me.
So close. Can we touch?
Still far. Follow Me.
I find God in the thunderstorm because God is the storm, as God is everywhere, and here His unsearchable power quiets our cries because we understand fear not as one afraid but as one in awe of the One who planned forever and is always.
We cannot contemplate what encompasses us without fading into it. Barely babies, we feed from the vine and trust the timely release of self-control and patience to faithfully accept what we will never know and cannot change.
We listen for God, and He gives us silence. We wait on God, and He shows up in all the places between who we are and where we want to be. God is the space between. He is a God of the moment, so now must be perfect, and as contented children do, we look up in love seeking the imperceptible face of the One who fills us.
