Isaiah 6.13b (NLT) “Israel will remain a stump, like a tree that is cut down, but the stump will be a holy seed that will grow again.”
Some days, I feel like the stump and others the sapling. On Monday my steps can fall with confidence from morning until night and by Tuesday a semi-truck of insignificance can crush even my deepest desires. I need consistency. I need God. I need the light which allows me to see the next step before I forget that I was headed somewhere to begin with.
Oswald Chambers writes, “There is a darkness that comes from too much light—that is the time to listen.”
I’m listening Lord, my soul arches toward the heavens longing to hear the faintest of whispers exhaled by my Savior. Whisper louder, my soul pleads. Come closer, my heart cries. More light, less darkness. More of you, less of me.
This study reflects my journey to find out what makes a man or woman great. God, yes, of course. But what can I offer Him here? What can I return to Him in a form of worship here on earth? How can I offer myself as a free-will offering on a daily basis? Maybe I don’t even want to be great–but good. God has already declared us to be good, you say. Yes, but what about those semi-trucks?
Greatness. Not top-of-my-class, worldly blessed, perfectly sanctified, almost petrified great. Great as in the pebble that is tossed into the Atlantic and ripples are seen by a lost and broken girl on the shores of Virginia, and at the moment she contemplates letting the ocean envelope her, she recognizes the face of God in those ripples and is brought to her knees before Him. That sort of great.
What I have found is that greatness is never a destination, instead it is the product of years of saying ‘yes’ to God when He asks. Greatness is happened upon innocently, in the same way a child unwraps a pretty square of purple paper with the intentions of sticking that purple paper in his pocket of treasures, but lo and behold he finds a sucker beneath! I wish I could stuff the sweet aroma of eternity I have found here, at his feet, but words elude me. Join me in the journey. Inhale with me, and then exhale praises.
If you come back, we’ll start with Abraham tomorrow. The father of many nations, the son of an idol worshiper, man whose vision was so full of light and the following darkness so full of night that he took the promise into his own hands. Abraham whose faith led him on a journey miles away from home, from civilization, from familiarity–and toward God.