Jun 30, 2011

The Song

He found her in the streets. 
A beggar child, singing the songs of darkness in the company of wicked.
A child in rags with a voice of the broken.
He loved her, so He called her to Himself with a sweet song.
A song of affection.
A song of new life.

She responded. Ran to Him.
Away from the songs of death in the streets.
And He sang her a sweet lullaby...
clothed her in luminous white...
named her His own.

And she loved Him. 
She danced with Him...spoke with Him...learned at His feet.
He brought her into His music room and sang His song to her. 
A love song from His heart to touch the deep things of hers.
A perfect melody that spun the colors of her dreams into brilliant visions.
Over and over He sang it. 
He sang it as she played, as she walked, as she slept.
He sang it until she knew it by heart.

She sang His song over and over to herself. 
It became as much a part of herself as herself.
A princess in royal robes.
A girl with the voice of redemption.
Singing the song of her King father.

Then she heard the call of the streets. 
A melody drifting through the open window.
A song that got stuck in her head.
It haunted her...
And she did not command it to leave...
She hummed it under her breath sometimes.
She dreamed of it at night.

It drew her.
Stronger and stronger it called her.
The song of the past...seductive memories of the past.
So one night she went.
She followed the voice of remembrance.
Back to the streets.
"Just for one night." She promised.
She left the gate of the palace...
She didn't return that night.

She thought of the king...and promised to go back to Him...tomorrow.
Then she lost herself in the pleasure of the moment.
Whirling to the tunes of danger in the company of the deceived.
And the King father watched from His window.
His tears dropped on the sill, as He watched.
He sang her song. But she couldn't hear above the noise. 

She enjoyed the streets.
Or said she did.
Until a morning dawned and she saw herself clothed in dingy garb.
No trace of the luminous white robes.
Alone in the company of the wounded.
She tried to sing the song of the king...
She couldn't remember the words.
Her voice came out a sob.
The melody was choked in shame.
So she cried.
She cried for her Maker.

And her Maker heard.
He heard and rejoiced.
He raised His voice.
He sang a song.
Loud and pure, He sang it.
The little beggar girl heard.
Through the fog of deception she heard.
She lifted her head. 
Guilty, she was. Ashamed.
Afraid to even look in His eyes again.

But she ran.
Ran from death.
Ran from deception.
Ran as fast as she could from the seductions of sin.
Ran to the palace.
Ran to the song...her song...the song her King was singing.
Ran straight into His arms.

And they cried...
And they sang...
A duet.
He sang with a voice of forgiveness.
She sang with a voice of gratitude.

Jun 23, 2011

The Decision

Coming towards the throne of the King
My heart catches in my throat. Just like it does every time I see Him. 
There is something about Him, His throne, His voice...it touches every emotion.  It simultaneously stirs desire and satisfies it.

I love this place
I pass through the veil, and it falls behind me, leaving us alone. Just me and my God.

"What is Your command, my King?"
I'm in love, I'll do anything.

He tells me. 

The beauty of the moment comes crashing to a halt. All the joy of His Presence vanishes. 
What He asked challenges everything I WANT. It grates on my pleasure. It opposes my will.  Suddenly I am no longer walking through fields with my Lover, 

I am standing at a fork in the road with Him beckoning from one way and Self calling from the other.

I can't do what He wants. I cannot. It's too hard. 
I turn to Him, pleading with tears for Him not to ask this of me. Please, Lord, let there be another way!
He is unrelenting. 

That is what He wants, and nothing less will do.

I find myself turning to go

Past the veil of glory. Away from the sweet incense of a prayerful heart. Turning from the bronze laver where I was washed clean. Avoiding the altar. Outside the gates of praise to the dry desert called Confusion beyond.

Trying to find a way to please Self and Him
Two lovers calling, wooing.
I must choose one.

I survey the two paths.

The path of Self, I see many are on that path already. 

See, there is Samson. Mighty, weak Samson. The man of strong arms and faulty spirit who desired his enemy lovers above the purity of his call. Should I join him?
There, too, I see Lot. Intelligent, foolish Lot. The man who made smart decisions with his purse and poor with his family. The man who vexed his soul daily as he tried to prove that he could live in wickedness and not be singed. He stands by a pillar of salt...
Oh look, there too is Saul. Saul, the king with something to prove. Always a better idea, when he didn't consider God's good enough. I could walk with Saul and converse with him...we have much in common.

The path of Self-Denial. A cross marks the entrance of this way. I shudder and quickly shift my gaze beyond it.
Look, Queen Esther, I can see her, the beautiful queen marching confidently to sure death at the request of her God. She saved a nation.

Further on Abraham, the stranger in the strange land. The seeker of an incorruptible inheritance. No palace, no comfort, just the hard ground of patience and the bright vision of promise. He birthed a nation.

Caleb, I see, too. Unwavering, undiscourageable Caleb. The 80-year-old giant killer with indefatigable faith, standing against an entire people in the company of the loyal
He led a nation into promise.

Then...wait! Can it be...? Further down I see a man kneeling...sobbing...pleading. "Let this cup pass..." Oh, how well I recognize that cry.  Was I not recently pleading the same? "Yet not My will but Yours be done!"

Wait! I recognize that voice... 

It is my Lover Himself! I had forgotten that once my Jesus stood where I stand now. Once He faced the decision I now have to make. How could I have forgotten?  He made this choice. He made it for me! He died to have a chance of winning my affection.

What I fair weather lover I've been, to even consider another option. I said I would follow and at the first opposition, I fled

Forgive me, my Friend, I have been disloyal.

I find myself turning...fleeing...running away from Self and all it's finite charms. 
Running straight into the everlasting arms of the One who loved me first...who walked this Way first...who conquered Self first.

Sweet peace.
Dear satisfaction.
I'm back where I belong
Desire piqued and quenched simultaneously in an endless romance.

There is one thing remaining to be said. It starts a cry of sacrifice and ends a laugh of triumph...

"Not my will, but YOURS be done!"