“Rivers of waters run down mine eyes, because they keep not thy law.”
Oh God. . . this heart. This broken heart. I want it.
So, I have a question. How does a soul stay soft?
How, in the middle of all the clatter and clamor of the tyrannical here and now?
How do eyes, so wearied from the darting demanded by days seemingly sky high on caffeine, still stay wide open to the things you have to slow down to see?
How do hearts, so twisted and broken and bowed down by the weight of a world going all wrong, still have any “break” left in them when it’s time to mourn over the things that make God sad?
I don’t know. All I know is, this morning, cross-legged on my futon, I bowed over those words. Then I looked out the glass at the lazy snowflakes falling. Then I bowed over them again. And it suddenly, everything other than this heart seemed to fade into foggy insignificance. . .
I’m a communicator. And the project looming over my coming week qualifies as “war by means of words” if anything ever did. But maybe that’s exactly why I ache. We don’t need more words running around in the world. We need more heart, like this.
“The entrance of thy words giveth light; it giveth understanding unto the simple.
I opened my mouth, and panted: for I longed for thy commandments.”
So, two things I’ve concluded for myself. First, we might be able to use “eyes tuned to heaven” even through demanding days seemingly fueled by caffeine. But I don’t think we can find them there. We might be able to keep soft souls soft in the midst of the tyrannical clatter, but only if God originally made them so, keeps making them so, far from the tumult.
And, second? Oh God. . . this heart. This broken heart. I want it.
So if I go really quiet on FB and Instagram and even this blog for a week or ten days. . . this would be why.
Oh, and hey, that “war by means of words” I was talking about? Yeah. It’s war with a dragon. The secret killer of this generation, no less. Which is all I’ll say for now. But you’ll pray for me, for that, won’t you?