Good morning Jesus. It has been an interesting week, holding on tight to your hand and walking with you while you open my eyes and lift my chin gently upwards with the tips of your fingers. You keep me living vertical.
Windows and doors open all around me, revealing images of this world’s reality, of our perilous soul condition. Objects of desire are blotting out the Son, blind sheep still wander. The weight of it wraps around my feet and threatens to keep me horizontal. The pain of it tries to drown me, but you severed my ball and chain on the cross, and we walked into freedom from the tomb.
Since you joined the Father and left your Spirit here, there’s a lot of seeking going on, but not for you. Your truth has been traded for brighter lights, bigger toys, man’s temporary fascinations. As if we can compete with you and your design, your purpose and your plan? Have we forgotten the cycle of history repeating itself? Our struggles and our triumphs are not original, or the first, or the last, but You are.
You hand crafted our intricate, brilliant minds in your image, kissed our lungs with air and yet some can’t even bring themselves to speak your name. So much safer and hip to use the buzz words of the day, so non-committal, so plastic intelligence, empty, and most of all – powerless. But my soul is not downcast.
You delight to say my name and called me before the earth felt the warmth of the sun. The realization that I even bleep on your radar slays me, that I am so much smaller than the stars, yet matter more to you than the entire universe put together. I am but a speck of star-dust orbiting around you. You are a mystery magnet I cannot explain. I am in awe of you and go deeper, past the velvet curtains of your solar systems to the beginning and the end, into your heart.
How do I know you are real? How do I know there is one God, and that you love me? How do I know I have nothing to fear when I put my trust in you? You have proven yourself over and over and over again. Every living cell bears your seal, every generation has witnessed the majesty of your handiwork.
The closer I come to you, the faster you run to me. I don’t need to see the exact lines of your face to feel you here beside me. I am not ashamed, and I will not apologize for believing in a baby born in Bethlehem, born of God and born of man.
As the world grows darker, as the pages of time draw to an earthly close, even though my body may lie down before the trumpet sounds, keep my spirit living vertical. I love you.