Vainglory finds us
but glory is rare.
Glory is the birth of a baby.
Unknown to the cosmos
for the quiet centuries
before it announces itself.
Glory is a love that is self-giving,
that does not have the taint of
its own advantage.
Glory is the advent of a summer evening,
its light burnished in the west,
the perfect moment in time.
Glory is Superior’s diamonds
reflected forever toward
the horizon.
The mountain standing stalwart,
its brightness challenging the sky.
These are but shadows.
Bodies that are born again,
the seed buried in the earth
only to rise, only to flower,
to grow strong.
The gracious invitation to
an undeserved celebration,
coming home not to shame
but to unrivaled joy.
Glory, the earth transformed!
Changed, renewed, its gears
realigned. Its beauty made
even more startling
and magnificent.
The awesome power of a
summer storm wrapped
into eternity.
Glory awaits us. We pause
to comprehend and feel
only its approximation.
We wait, let in on its secret.
Love and power in one silken place.
A chorus where majesty
will make us weep.
A glory that never fails.
Surprises never silenced,
never dimmed.
The weight of the Eternal
pressing down on us,
catching our breath,
opening eyes
that once thought
they could see.
Humbled thankfulness,
unimagined joy,
ravished by the Giving Heart,
that drumbeat throbbing
throughout all creation.
From a new book I am considering:
Soujourner of the Spirit. Any thoughts?
Text me or comment on F/B. Thanks.