My deep desire is to move, to actively seek the Kingdom until one grand morning when I find myself stumbling down that last stretch of road, the weariness melting off me in the final, staggering steps that, as they wobble and fall, one after another, they become the last testament of the paradox of this life, that it is quite simple but also quite difficult.
I often feel frozen in this life, locked into a way of thinking, a selfishness, an apathy that, even in my most inspired moments, I perpetuate instead of humbling myself. To retain this self-centeredness is to be frozen, unmoving. To humble oneself (or to be humbled) is to be thawed, to begin to flow. A river moves where it desires, but only because the destination it desires is what the landscape around it bends toward as well. In other words, as much as a river destines its own flow, it is as much predestined at the same time. I desire to move, and my life is contoured to flow toward the Kingdom, but I often find myself remaining frozen, unable to break free even though the desire exists.
The wayward son "came to his senses" one afternoon while he stood ankle-deep in mud, excrement, and pig slop. Finding himself stalled, frozen if you will, in the consequence of his selfishness, he somehow found a way to break free, even if it was with a rehearsed excuse on his lips. He thawed. He flowed. And he found the sea waiting for him, even surging forward to meet him. The excuse ended up not being necessary.
Oh, that I also would thaw and break free into a rapid run for my true home, the destination I am bent toward, the only place I really belong.
No comments:
Post a Comment