This is my God-given,
Holy Ghost-driven,
Pure and holy face.
It’s my look me in the eyes,
I’ve got nothing to hide,
You can be assured face.
This is my completely see through,
No mask between me and you,
I can face the world face.
It’s my not afraid to cry,
Brush a tear from my eye,
Splash some water and wipe it dry face.
This is my what you see is what you get,
Trustworthy and transparent,
In the image of God face.
It’s my Heaven viewing,
Sin eschewing,
Beautiful, Apostolic face.
Saturday, June 20, 2009
TOO BIG
My middle child is fifteen. What a great kid he is, but definitely a teenager with all the stereotypical moodiness associated with that role. He smiles when he wants to smile, not when you want him to. He laughs when he wants to laugh, not when you want him to. He is in a good mood when he wants to be, not…well, you get the picture. And so those rare moments when he’s smiling and excited about something without being coerced are treasured.
This was the case one evening just before dark. As I was at the computer, he came up the basement stairs at a fast clip, very excited about something he had just seen. It seems he was playing basketball when he spotted a slim stream of ants coming from a small crevice beside the concrete court. The exodus was getting wider and longer. Going where? On a whim, he followed the little soldiers, and followed...and followed.
He told me how they marched on and on, making grand detours for no apparent reason, until they disappeared en masse into a miniature canyon in the field behind our house. He was so animated that I decided to see for myself (Neither did I want this fragment of time to end when my teenager was including me in his world:)
He showed me where the small battalion trickled from the crack and together we weaved in and out, round and round, to where thousands, perhaps millions, were vanishing beneath the earth. As we backtracked toward the house, I picked up a small stick and put it in their path. It was as if they hardly even noticed the obstacle. We bent down so close that they should have felt our breath as we tried to corral them with the stick, and yet they just kept on their detour-ridden journey.
In amazement, I said to my son, “We’re too big. They can’t even see us.”
There was a time when God was too big for us to see. Immense. Infinite. Immeasurable. He watched us on our hopeless journey, knowing that we were making it much more arduous than necessary. He intervened in the lives of mankind time after time, often coming so close that we should have felt His Breath through prophets, angels and theophanies. Yet He was still too big to perceive.
Until the day that He became small. God became man. Suddenly Visible. Tangible. Physical.
If I could have stepped into that miniature world and taken on the form of an ant, they could have seen me. They could have perceived me. They could have come to know, trust and perhaps even love me, in their own ant-like way.
But why would I do such a thing? Unimaginable. Unthinkable. Inconceivable. And yet, exactly what our all-powerful and loving God did…
...when He became small for me.
This was the case one evening just before dark. As I was at the computer, he came up the basement stairs at a fast clip, very excited about something he had just seen. It seems he was playing basketball when he spotted a slim stream of ants coming from a small crevice beside the concrete court. The exodus was getting wider and longer. Going where? On a whim, he followed the little soldiers, and followed...and followed.
He told me how they marched on and on, making grand detours for no apparent reason, until they disappeared en masse into a miniature canyon in the field behind our house. He was so animated that I decided to see for myself (Neither did I want this fragment of time to end when my teenager was including me in his world:)
He showed me where the small battalion trickled from the crack and together we weaved in and out, round and round, to where thousands, perhaps millions, were vanishing beneath the earth. As we backtracked toward the house, I picked up a small stick and put it in their path. It was as if they hardly even noticed the obstacle. We bent down so close that they should have felt our breath as we tried to corral them with the stick, and yet they just kept on their detour-ridden journey.
In amazement, I said to my son, “We’re too big. They can’t even see us.”
There was a time when God was too big for us to see. Immense. Infinite. Immeasurable. He watched us on our hopeless journey, knowing that we were making it much more arduous than necessary. He intervened in the lives of mankind time after time, often coming so close that we should have felt His Breath through prophets, angels and theophanies. Yet He was still too big to perceive.
Until the day that He became small. God became man. Suddenly Visible. Tangible. Physical.
If I could have stepped into that miniature world and taken on the form of an ant, they could have seen me. They could have perceived me. They could have come to know, trust and perhaps even love me, in their own ant-like way.
But why would I do such a thing? Unimaginable. Unthinkable. Inconceivable. And yet, exactly what our all-powerful and loving God did…
...when He became small for me.
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