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I will pour my Spirit upon your offspring, and my blessing on your descendants.
They shall spring up among the grass like willows by flowing streams.
This one will say, ‘I am the LORD's,’ another will call on the name of Jacob,
and another will write on his hand, ‘The LORD's’ ... Isaiah 44:3-5
and another will write on his hand, ‘The LORD's’ ... Isaiah 44:3-5
That ancient land is mine, for I live in a culture that thirsts, too. Educated, but still thirsty. Our world, the endless library, crowds our thoughts with volumes and e-books, webinars and experts. We run to it all, for we we want to know. Know all this matters. Know purpose. Know how to stay untouched by the very pain that drove us to the seeking.
Thirsty.
The endless quest to comprehend, it's insatiable the more we find. In discovering, we see how little we know. How little we understand. And we choose the desert, for that which is parched and hard is often more bearable than the fertile truth. The searching, the longing, the thirst - all sometimes easier than His flood of grace.
But wholeness is born out of my moments of dying, out of the surrender. And His truth blooms on a weary, withered soul, and I live despite the storm of deception throughout my land. My culture. My own thoughts.
I swim in His endless, raging ocean of grace and thrust my hand upward. As He carved me on the palm of His hand, I too, etched Him on mine. "The Lord's" is my forever mark. Forever.
And the desert of my heart will return, but the very Source of the stream will pursue, washing me away in His mercy time and time again.
Thirsty.
The endless quest to comprehend, it's insatiable the more we find. In discovering, we see how little we know. How little we understand. And we choose the desert, for that which is parched and hard is often more bearable than the fertile truth. The searching, the longing, the thirst - all sometimes easier than His flood of grace.
But wholeness is born out of my moments of dying, out of the surrender. And His truth blooms on a weary, withered soul, and I live despite the storm of deception throughout my land. My culture. My own thoughts.
I swim in His endless, raging ocean of grace and thrust my hand upward. As He carved me on the palm of His hand, I too, etched Him on mine. "The Lord's" is my forever mark. Forever.
And the desert of my heart will return, but the very Source of the stream will pursue, washing me away in His mercy time and time again.
love this, Christan...so so true...I desperately want closeness with the Lord, but dance away...back and forth...what are we afraid of? What's in us, maybe?
ReplyDeleteSometimes the Gospel seems so simple, too simple, that we feel the need to complicate it, I think. Thanks for stopping by, Paula.
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