a gnawing pain eats at my inside.
my heart trembles.
my spirit lays waste to desires created within long ago, in a time where this world seemed majestic and beauty was flashy and substantial.
i do not long for the former things.
i long for him.
oh, how my soul longs for you, O my Father.
how i long to explore the intricacies of your tender heart.
how i desire to walk among the ancient caverns of your brilliant mind.
you alone can fill me.
you alone can heal me.
you alone can explain me.
oh how i long for your Word to become flesh once again!
how i long to see that ruined valley of bones rise to life.
how i long to see those rough and ready tides pull back like curtains from a window, beckoned by a staff, earthy, made of wood.
how i long to feed the thousands with bread!
how i long to heal the sick.
bind the brokenhearted.
cast out darkness.
raise the dead.
and bring Light to this dark and worn world.
and i cling to the edge of your garment, like the woman, bleeding, not longing for my healing, but the power to heal.
and you turn and smile gently, and remind me of something you’ve already told me.
“What I have I give to you. Go.”
is that all it takes?
but gentle Savior, what if?
what if i can’t?
what if the tides don’t pull back?
what if i leave the crowd hungry?
what if the sick get worse?
what if the dead are buried?
what if the darkness stays?
what if the miracle doesn’t happen?
and once again, you bring all my fears to nothing with a simple phrase, wrought by joy and clothed in truth, “What if it does?”
what if it does.
then it is only the beginning, and this preface will lead to page after page of wonder and glory; to not only know Christ crucified, to believe in his resurrection, and to love him, but to truly become his hands and feet and voice to a broken and dying world.
and what do his hands do but heal?
what do his feet do but walk on water?
what does his voice do but command the dead to live?
either i am Christ to the world or i am me.
and no one ever was saved because of me.