How great is our God. He holds time in His hands, and so much more than just the beginning and the end, He holds the parts we can't see or feel, the beyond, the inside, the over and under and all that... is. That we can't describe. I'm pleading for wisdom to connect, to weave webs of grace and to leave traces of Jesus on every life I touch. It's not something I can do alone. I must commune with the Star-Flinger, the Master of time, the crafter of antiquity and all things glorious as well as of my own heart.
Tonight the air tastes heavy with the world, as if ten-thousand hopes have been laid on it. How I long to be a part of the gift of answers so that our deepest questions might win with our sure hope. So many hopeless hearts clang with the noise of unforgiveness, of broken promises. Yet He longs to sing the purest song in their weary souls. I hear that song whispered behind the crying of my own heart, behind my feeble attempts to reach stars myself.
And so I gently succumb to His work, and see beauty slowly crafted, so that my fingerprints look more and more like His. Because the morning does come and there is a glorious sunrise yet, filled with the sweetness of birdsong, and so many more hearts have the opportunity to sing with them. And there is yet opportunity to rest in His goodness. For me. For so many more.