I am slowly realizing that with each passing day, I must live every moment for God. I am finding that living is just another way to say thank you with open hands, an open heart. Grainy sunsets, first rains, the expectant face of a child, dimples and faded wrinkles, tired bodies and honest exclamations are just glimpses into another world we are truly meant for.
My heart often swells and leaps with northerness (A C.S. Lewis word), a desire not compared even to joy or yearning for its deepness and complexity. I can only shout to the Lord that I am made for him, made only for his love and glory. And as my mind bleeds little words onto this keyboard onto this digital paper, I can only scream out (silently) how I am made for God and how keenly I feel it.
There are nights when I lie awake in my bed, clenched fists tightly covered under blankets, when I refuse to let myself die. My whole being screams against it. I do not comprehend this dying, this leaving earth and my body shell forever. It hurts a little, like stretching scars, to let go of my life and this moment and all the moments that make up my past, my present, and my future. I can feel my heart pound in my chest, my breathing down to my fingertips, and refuse to let it all melt away to eternity.
But I can rest assured in the knowledge of life eternal. For I shall never truly die.
These days will melt away in comparison to what is to come--like a burdened preparation for a bright awakening. I can see now that no hand or finger can hold onto what I have now and bring it into eternity. Only Christ will bring these memories, these fruitful deeds done in and by his grace, into something that will be treasured forever. For I, as all other of my kin are, am a hungry creature--unwilling to let go of life here. We all have holes in our hearts, holes too large and restless for this finite world.
I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me. All things.
I can go do those things, now.
This life is not my own. I am but a vapor, a swiftly changing wind, a backstage actor of the centuries and world events initiated by a powerful Hand.
As these words trickle off, and words are beautiful, scarce things--I say thank you to my God who gave me these words (as a gift)--gave this music to dance to, this ‘pencil’ my faltering fingers now grip.
To gather stories is a grand privilege. To capture moments and reflect the glorious, anything-but-mundane lives of honest people is a beautiful thing. For we all have our own magnificent joys, the minutes and moments that cause our hearts to swell and leap, beat with fear or excitement.
This is for you, from you, Lord.