No longer need for light
No lack of day
Blindness gone away
No longer night

Sun sent it’s blinding rays
Night took its last climb
Washed in warm love sublime
Joy filled days

Rainbow is the promise sign
Bask in crisp glow
The Loved no longer below
All saints align

Lately the Lord has been teaching me what joy is, and so I wanted to share a little bit of my personal journey with you.

Borne on wings of victory
Sealed for courts above
Soaring high above the heavens
Freed from sin and care
Let me sing salvation's story
Shout His praise forevermore
Lift your voice and with me praise Him
Borne on vict’rys wing.

Once I was a lonely stranger
Never finding rest
But He drew me to a fountain
Where love divine was giv'n.
Bowing at my Savior's cross
Where Jesus bore my shame
My weary life--renewed, restored
And borne on vict'rys wing.

The evening was the fourteenth of December. The year was 1873. It was bitterly cold outside, yet I sat comfortable inside, warmed by a fire, and content and happy. But I could have been outside, chilled by the frosty fingers of the wind, and been just as content and happy. How could anyone not be who was in my place? God had blessed me, immensely. I was not yet twenty-three years of age and I had more than I could ask for.

My lips are riddled with cracks and hardened patches of skin, like flakes of mud in a dry riverbed, splintering with sparks of pain as I press them together, trying not to think about the raging thirst thickening my tongue and making it nearly impossible to swallow. My hunger, once torturous, has faded to insignificance compared to my thirst. The merciless sun has covered my body with blisters and dead, peeling skin, irritated by every movement. With every step my knees threaten to collapse, occasionally making good their threats at the worst possible moments.

I am the voice of the wind through the barren trees
I am the cry of the motherless child
I am the silence that rises at night
I am the hope of the young

I know despair that chokes out the night
I know pain that overwhelms your mind
I know yearning that cannot be satisfied
I know joy that can never be described

I've been lost in darkness
I've been bathed in light
I have fought the battle
that alone you need not be

“Now the birth of Jesus Christ was as follows: After His mother Mary was betrothed to Joseph, before they came together, she was found with child of the Holy Spirit. Then Joseph her husband, being a just man, and not wanting to make her a public example, was minded to put her away secretly. But while he thought about these things, behold, an angel of the Lord appeared to him in a dream, saying, ‘Joseph, son of David, do not be afraid to take to you Mary your wife, for that which is conceived in her is of the Holy Spirit.

In the garden, His soul is sorrowful to death.
Bloody tears and sweat mingled with every breath.
He falls on His face and beseeches the Father,
Asking that the cup might go no farther.

My Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from me; nevertheless, not as I will but as You will.

That night, Peter, James, and John He brought,
Instead of temptation, it was sleep they fought.
The spirit was willing yet the flesh was weak – so unlike Him who prayed.
And as He finishes – into the hands of sinners, the Son of Man is betrayed.

A nature of sin, a soiled soul,

A people hostile against their God.

The relationship He initiated is broken,

Their unholiness requires a rod.

Their sin deserved His immense wrath,

For His perfection could not be near
Their dirt and filth

Demanded the death of all this earthly sphere.

The altar, stained with blood.

An animal’s death was required,

The shedding of blood for forgiveness.

{post-sermon musings on a Friday evening. The sermon was on Leviticus chapters 1-7 and 17.}

Part 1: The Wilderness, Moses’ time.

            Small fingers wrapped around my hand, and I felt a gentle tug on my sleeve.       “Papa,” my six-year-old son said. His big brown eyes looked up at me, filled with love and curiosity as they always were. Dark curls tumbled around his forehead. I smiled. My son looked so much like his beautiful mother.

            “Papa,” he said again.

            “Yes, my son?”