It is often at night that I wonder about the last page.
The final turn and last crease.
Done and I wonder at how none of us know when that word will be spoken.
We know not our last breath or final pull.
We know not when or how.
But we do know that the pages of this earth run dry.
And I wonder at our smallness.
Framed creatures living in a framed world dreaming of a world with no edges.
Dreaming of a world not bound by us but unwound by Him.
Here. With grass and blue and everything whole.
Here. With no fear of sadness nor worry of pain.
Here. With cup and bread and no one hungry.
Full and I mean we’re content.
Full stomachs and souls.
Seeing Him for what He is and Has been and Will be. Seeing Him.
That will be something to see Him when we’ve wondered if He sees us for so long.
How silly we will feel when we think of the droughts that made us wonder if His eyes had gone.
We’ll feel silly. And He’ll tell us it hurt him that we could think he left.
Allowed to be hurt. Allowed to feel pain. He let himself feel rejected, scorned.
He let Himself be Jesus.
All Jesus and nothing more and certainly not less.
Now. I wonder if we can before we trust Him with our sleep.
Remember that His eyes have not gone and His hands have not gone weak.
Mercy in flesh.
Grace in bones.
Holiness with hands like ours yet pierced where ours are whole.
Jesus, grant us peace for the journey Home.