A Shadow in the Moonlight

The Spirit is in the house tonight. I can see the silouette of his shadow dancing in the fading glow of the moonlight sneaking through my foggy window. The outline of His Spirit casting a shadow on my wall that reminds me more of Peter Pan's than that of the Son of Man. I can see that shadow waving its hand, motioning me to come closer, to follow Him through my door, down the hall, and out of my house, to a world that man hasn't messed up yet. I can hear the Spirit dancing to a song; a song about a world where the love of the Cosmos flows in its quiet waters. I can hear a song about a place where the golden grass of untouched fields grows knee high. A song about a place where the chaos of the city is replaced by the commotion of the stars preparing for a nights performance. A song where the shadow of a skyscraper is replaced by the shade of an oak tree. And so I see this shadow of man with pierced palms and a childish grin stretching across his boyish face waving me into greater romance, calling me for company. Asking me if I'd like to go share a cup of coffee with an old friend. A shadow curious to see if I'd like to share a cigar on the steps of a cathedral of cedar trees. And I'm humbled in this moment. In this very moment, I'm a man, a simple man, broken and shattered by the love of my Father. Broken because He simply refuses to give up on me, because He simply refuses to give up on us- His sons and daughters. And so I'm drawn here, to the glow of my computer screen, to write. Because the truth is, I never feel as close to the Cosmos as I do when I'm crunching the letters of this coffee-stained keyboard, or pushing my pen across the pages of my storied journal. I find that it is in these moments when our Great God is most glorified in me. In the moments where it's just His shadow beckoning me out of the dark and into the light of my computer screen or the leather binding of my notebooks. Our God is good, He is very good. I am stirred by the song He his singing right now. I am absolutely compelled by the eternal romance He invites me into tonight. I am floored by His love for His child. He is relentless. He returns to the walls of my heart to fufill a promise he made to me, to all of us, in the book of John. He returns to adopt us into His family, not to leave us orphaned and abandoned. He comes to claim His children. And so tonight, in the newness of a day that has not yet reached dawn, I can feel Love pressing into my chest. And all I can think about is how much I don't deserve to feel this way. I can only think about how sooner than later this moment will disappear and I'll forget about how the brush of Christ moved across the canvas of my life. I take this grace for granted. We all do. Still He comes. He still sends us invitations to the party. He's the friend that always shows up on our doorstep even after we've locked him out countless times. He always comes back, back to our walls dancing in the glow of the moon. Holding out his arm, with an open hand, begging us to grab hold and walk into the rising of the sun worlds away. And tonight, He's back, moving in ways only he can. In this moment, this time, shared between Creator and created, his creation, me, the result of the same God who compelled the glaciers to carve mountains; moved them in ways that rivers would be torn into vallies, decorating their cold busy waters with fish and life, is feeling this same imagination and same creativity unfolding inside his weakend chest. The Spirit is here, telling me that its all going to be fine. The quiet commotion of creation beating my heart, moving my feet to the rhytm of His earth. He speaks my name in a language of love that no man will never fully comprehend, that no man will ever completely understand and therefore will never properly teach. That man has come and gone. That man sits at the right hand of the great divinity moving in my soul. The best we can do, as humble hearts, is to seek, find, and not yield in the loving of His offspring. It is to love and shed compassion for His sons and daughters, for our brothers and sisters. If we would just love... If we would let our hearts become consumed and covered in this redemption. I pray for this. That the beauty of such moments as the one I'm wrapped in, the moments we share in the company of our King would be savored. That we would write it on our hearts in perminant marker, so all that pass would see, like the initials of lovers carved in a tree, that our hearts are ornaments of creation, our lives testemants of a greater good. That we would hold these moments we spend in The River in our hands, gripping them so tightly that our fingers start to bleed and our body would sweat. Oh, that we would not let go! That we would truly feast on these moments, taste them in our mouths and savor them, and fully understand and believe that our God is real! That this love and compassion, and this wild pursuit for us is real! That we would carry these moments with us throughout the pages of time so that when we are decievingly lured to the desert by our enemy or romantically and beautifully drawn there by our Savior, we would not forget how great his passion for us is; how unending the devotion! That we would never forget his unmatched splendor and delight in every changing season of our soul! That we would recognize his majesty in all things. That we would still sing his love song, even when there is no music. I hope to find our voices harmonizing in the glory of that song.