Night heaviness is being replaced by morning joy, and that brittle veneer lying atop my heart is melting. A great soul thaw is occurring, and its runoff filling all those gaping holes in which I'd been falling. Graciously alive, He is making His word which was sown in the night. The days have just begun in their march for greater progress, and with them the sun's rays are warming and waking all strained parts grown dormant in the cold.
I speak figuratively as much as literally, but at times it seems it is almost impossible or entirely impractical to try to separate the natural unfolding in Creation from that of my soul.
I missed the sunrise this morning, but when I woke, the sun was as bright as the air was refined, and I drank them both in great gulps before scuttling along to church. Psalm 119 was again our frame, and verse 17 began, "Deal bountifully with Your servant..." In grace and mercy, we must be tended to bountifully for we are spiritually destitute, dead, broken and unable to do the very thing of which the psalmist asks, "that I may live and keep Your word." We desire to do right, but who knows that to be enough for the doing of the good? No resolve reaches the purity of our heavenly pedigree. It is the invisible string fastened from the believer's heart to the Father's bosom that must be always tightened. Our understanding must be quickened, and this by His word; "Open my eyes, that I may behold wonderful things from Your law..." If we behold not, wonderful things from Him who is glorious, our eyes will fix themselves on something else and we will forget Him. "I am a stranger in the earth, do not hide your commandments from me." The soul, when allowed to consider this life, fearfully wanders to the eternal notions of what might be. He who has found the eternal God as His habitation wants only to be with Him, and mourns dreadfully at how cloudy is his vision and how dim are his eyes.
I spent the afternoon with one whose heart beats with similar cadence to my own, and we worshiped as we rolled along and beheld a most glorious sunset. It began in citrus splashes over the icy canvas, and like the Word which is savored long, its hues only deepened and intensified as time marched along. It seemed to me to be painted with glass or liquid and brilliant metal. The little one who calls me Meh-wi, pronounced it purple, and the other little doll made all sorts of admiring comments. Again, the day is pouring forth its speech as the night watch begins, and in every heart on this earth eternity beckons, and the good God who gave Himself for the sins of the whole world calls them to Himself.