The dust around me has yet to settle, but I walk through it as nothing has happened. My logical, sober eyes are shut tight; the eyes of delusion are wide open. I barely see the rubble, the smoke, and the blood through the lens of calloused complacency. Yet I pick up my own burden, and walk on.
And though onward I walk, it takes the willful disregard of everything true in me to pretend that I am not walking in a circle. Years and years in an endless barren wilderness I have fashioned as my prison; yet You designed as my tutor. The golden calf lies in ashes behind me, the taunting lure of giving up to my left, the Promise so far, far away away.
Yet …
Yet, You would have me believe that it is here. The promise is here. The kingdom of God, is here. You would have me believe that the vision of You is more captivating and desirable than the plastic world set all around me. The barren wilderness, consumed by locusts, is the playground of Your creative restorative Hand… Your empty canvas. You tell me not to fear the giants, and the terrors that come by night. You would have me believe that the rubble should not be ignored, but presented to You as bones that will one day will live.
And being here, looking in Your eyes, feeling Your heartbeat as Your arms hold me above the water I tried to walk on…
Lord, I believe You.
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