Perennial Light

After every day comes the night. After every night comes the morning. I wait eagerly for the day when, upon waking, I find that the night does not come. There will be perpetual morning, everlasting freshness when the King comes riding on the clouds. His glory will illuminate the new earth and the new heavens. His song will fill my ears and drown out the din of calamity that has so long plagued my aural senses. The import of that moment will not slip past me, dull as I am. To see at last the face of my Savior. To touch the scars of the One who emptied himself. To feel the beat of the heart that stopped that mine may start. To hear the laugh of him who took the weight of the world. To eat with him who makes the rain fall and the tree to bear its fruit. To embrace him and feel my face against his beard. His voice, I almost hear it now. It sets the earth to trembling and stirs the depths of the oceans. I have yet to see my Savior. For this hope I set to work. For this hope I worship him. For hope he has given me. Faith is his daily gift. He works and moves within me with the skill of a shepherd, a carpenter, a potter, and a gardener. He, my King, works in me still in the ways of a servant. He came not to be served, but to serve. To seek and to save was his undertaking. In me, by his grace, that mission has been accomplished. There is no life outside his tender mercy. Denying or forgetting his existence causes me to doubt my own, so intertwined are we. To work, to serve, to be his slave encompasses my aspirations. And yet, no amount of work will make him love me more. He unsparingly poured out himself. His munificent deed was eternally sufficient to secure my adoption into his family. He is real. How can I cling to such a confident statement? Is the evidence incontrovertible? If you must ask you have not felt his love. Do not let pride have its way in you. To break free from doubt one must submit himself to the Way, the Truth, and the Life: Jesus Christ.