I was sitting quietly in my son’s guest room on Christmas morning. I had read the Ancient Text beginning poignantly on the 23 Psalm. I had read Lewis and Keller. Prayed. Written and still, our home was quiet. I opened the blinds to see dawn come and begin to just be with Him. I am tired of faith. Really growing weary of the ongoing imagination of Jesus. The Spirit’s stirring in me a mix of hope, longing, and doubtful wandering. Faith is all we have. There is nothing but a memory now. I am growing ever more dependent upon The Spirit to keep up my lagging faith. I imagine this is The Way. The Way of our daily borne cross which in the end leads to a dying of seeming forsakenness while all the while our faith’s Object is carrying us away over Jordan’s stormy banks.
No comments:
Post a Comment