I guess I confess that I’ve let stress press upon my chest feeling stretched beyond regress, but beyond regrets be the pauses when He uses all the STUFF for His accomplishments, or presents using the present to present to them, an encouragement serving courage for discouraged men, ensuring them that He is surely purging all concerning His servants in this mission that isn’t ever a mimic of gimmicks, but a limerick to penetrate the penitent hearts, so I’m prostrate before the King whose remarks re-spark the weak heart and make it strong, colliding with the violent and rewriting their songs, I’m residing in the private where His whispers are psalms that minister calms even storms can’t wake, so I contemplate in this space where I seek more than just His grace, but His face.
To know Him, Jesus, Father, Creator, Author and Finisher of what I would like to call my faith. King of all kings, Lord of all lords, who rightly and will always hold that place. Yahweh, Jehovah, known through His covenant with His people… Good Shepherd, Redeemer, knowing his sheep and seeking out that which was once lost.
And this cost that He paid takes the profane and changes its nature to something of grace. In Him I am forgiven, chosen, redeemed, called for His purposes, child of God… As I seek Him for who He is, I find more of who I am. And the stress I confess puts life back in context, overcoming each contest to win each battle, because His peace is enough for the hassle. Grabbing as deep as I am willing, He pulls out bricks, that only He can use for this building.