coastlines

The Florida coastline has disappeared. There is water below, and water that won’t stay in my eyes. Sun glints through a brown paper envelope, and two more from close friends—written goodbyes I will treasure and keep.

This, now, is a cutting and tearing, and I can’t wrap my mind around it all. I arrived on a stormy, sultry August night. I leave a completely different person on this flight in the blazing sun on a day in May. I could never have known all that these two years would mean. I have been loved beyond measure and these months, this momentous whisper in time, has been a growing-into that reality, an awakening to the depth and freedom and life offered by a good God to His people. This journey is far harder, yet far more glorious than I knew.

People, with all their habits and quirks, needs and complexities—these are those among whom I run this race. We may meet on the other side, or we may not, and that leads to this press of days a weight which cannot be ignored. There is something bigger to this scheme of things than papers or grades or that awful black gown that no human ought ever to have to wear. It’s not about the things that make up life, but about the fact that there is life, and that it bears the imprint of the King of the universe.

I’m slow to see it—oh yes. And there was a fall. We weep as we sow the seed in the earth. We look in the eyes of another human being and find always an ache for home. The best part is that this place isn’t home for the children of the living God. We await a better, lasting inheritance as James writes:

“Be patient, therefore, brothers, until the coming of the Lord. See how the farmer waits for the precious fruit of the earth, being patient about it, until it receives the early and the late rains. You also, be patient. Establish your hearts, for the coming of the Lord is at hand.”

On this side we fight. We fight to see the world as it truly is, to behold Christ as all-lovely and worth the sacrifice of all we possess and our very selves. We fight the enemy of our souls, and though sore and hard the fray may be, we know we shall be more than victors through the blood of the God-become-Man—our Great High Priest who pleads His blood even now in the throne room of heaven.

Here indeed, stretches love vast as the ocean, lovingkindness deep and wide. Here that stubborn hesed grasps the unlovely, reaches out again and again to the wayward. This is the forgiveness of  a Father, as I was reminded by Michael Reeves this afternoon (in His Aslan voice, of course), who draws children to Himself even as they sin. He grieves over their exchange of His rich presence for the baubles of this world. How deep the Father’s love for us, how vast beyond all measure.

One can easily forget weakness and need, but we serve a holy God who is of purer eyes than to look on sin. It is humbling to know you have nothing to bring, nothing you can offer, nothing to recommend, and everything to prove your utter unworthiness. As we grow to resemble Christ more and more, we desire the pleasure of our King. His joy becomes ours; His hatred, ours; His desire for lost sinners, ours; His care for His people, ours; His glory, ours; His light, our light. For in Christ we find the fullness of Him who fills all in all, and in Him we ourselves become the righteousness of God.

So we press on: forgetful, small, powerless, and yet loved. As the light of that love dawns in our hearts, we turn it outward to those around us, and in our very actions and words God manifests His own infinite love.