miles gone by

Sitting in the back seat, drowsing, listening to the giggles and conversation of four other girls (all, apparently, my relatives of some sort or another). Trees run by outside, green forest all around, and the dark blue-grey outline of hills behind. White groups of clouds, wispy, without any weight, play around the tops, and grey sky reminds of boding rain. A million shades of green meet the eye, and as many different textures of leaf and tree. Fields of buttercups merge into groves of bushy wild blackberries, and old barns tethered to silos, with the obligatory rusty tractor. I've missed this state. It's in my blood more than I thought, I guess. Music plays on my phone--music that tells the stories of the past months, music shared, music that's touched the coming real of dreams. The girls, they're playing other music--music that goes way back. Back to corners I'd rather not go. But it's perky and convincing, and it's running all over me now, how He makes all things new. How roads run out before, made of the stones of miles gone by.

Lord, give our hearts some weight. In this world that puzzles and wounds and woos us, give us our true North for the setting of a compass that will not go astray on the high seas. You alone know what lies over the horizon—what gales and mists, or quiet nights filled with stars and glassy seas. So keep us, always, in Your love, and guide us by Your hand. We are weak, but we find ourselves in the One who stands before Your throne. As we press on, discovering Your ways and Your mercies, new every day, help us to give to others of that love that chose and called and redeemed us. May we not be dead ends of grace, but fresh conduits that never hold back. Teach us to live with extravagance toward others, for You have filled us to the fullest, and we but glimpse the edges of Your thoughts toward us. Draw our hearts to the One for whom we were made, and may our lives yield Him glory as we await that morning of all our hopes, when we shall see Him face to face.