Here's the scene. I am lying on my bed, lying across rumpled blankets, my feet propped upon my pillow. The baggiest of t-shirts, the messiest of hair, and the tiredest of eyes. And, I confess, a lonely heart.
You know those nights when the day has fled, you get to your room, and all you want to do is call someone up? To be with someone. To hear another's voice. To talk of serious, honest things.
Well, I've got the bug. I have almost called several people, only to pause. Talking would be too hard anyways. I am too tired for that. I just want to be in the presence of another. No words. Just the warmth and life of someone else, someone who loves me.
I have a deep desire for relationship, for community, for love. That is only natural, as a human, but sometimes I think it gets in the way. When channeled incorrectly,
it gets in the way of me and God.
My desire for other people trumps that of my desire for God. Forget talking to God because I won't hear from him audibly like I do from others. I won't feel his arms around me in an embrace. My constant ache for the tangible, the immediate, rules me as I cast aside the one whose presence is like no one else's. For there is one whose presence heals scars that run deeper than rivers. Though my cup is cracked and worn, he pours in satisfaction and abundance until it overflows. His is the voice that creates light, strikes down the nations, raises the dead. His hands stitched the oceans into being and his feet walked on water. No one can compete with this one. No one gets it like he does. No one sees me like he does. No one knows me like he, comforts me like he, rebukes me, holds me, guides me, ravishes me, loves me like him. He finds me in the dark, holds me in the cold, and pursues me in my faithlessness. This is the relationship that will last an eternity.
And yet daily I choose to not invest in it. I choose to not invest in my relationship with the eternal lover of my soul.
That is stupid.
When I get to him, on that final day, when I stand before him on Judgment Day - what will he say?
Will he, despite my protests, say he never knew me?
All because I never took the time to know him, here, now?