My sins are great and testify against me, Oh my Lord.
To be in Your presence should be my ruin;
Your glory is too magnificent for my frame to bear.
My sin cripples me, and all that I have is like soiled rags before You.
My life is not an aroma but a stench.
My iniquity is astounding to me, that I know Your glory, and yet, daily, I wander.
My lips, hands, and heart are devoid of purity, and I place the blame nowhere but myself.
BUT
There is a cry that shakes the cosmos,
It is the blood of the lamb slain at the altar before the turning of time.
And His resurrection transforms my chains of transgression to pearls of righteousness.
My Saviour comes as a consuming fire redeeming all things and those that call out His name in faith.
He searches the expansive and expanding universe for my eyes,
And when He finds me, He pulls me close.
With water from the fount of crystal He cleanses me.
With coals of righteousness He purifies my lips.
I am limp from the wreckage of my selfishness, but He fortifies my bones with truth.
With a flame of love He melts the ice from my heart, and He injects my veins with enduring compassion.
With a salve of peace He restores and renews my cracked and calloused hands.
Songs of His praise fill my lungs, and as I cough the ash from them, my joy rings through the silence.
For His glory and renown He lifts me yet again from the pit.
Nothing can ever separate me from His passionate love.
My God My God
You are more to me than life!
Hallelujah to the Lord of Lords!!
Tuesday, January 28, 2014
Saturday, January 25, 2014
Daddy's Love
This video was made by my brother Trevor Ball, and the testimony is my sister Laura Beth Harbin.
This lifted my heart. It's so beautiful; there is SO much truth here. Just encounter Jesus. He is so BEYOND WORDS!!
Tuesday, January 14, 2014
Stream of Consciousness*
* A.K.A. I had to be awake before the sun was up, which is very unusual for me, and apparently my thoughts are numerous at this hour.
The morning mist has always fascinated me. It looks like gauze, merely translucent, something you should be able to see right through, but you cannot.
Also, in the mist, you can only see what is immediately around you. I believe this limitation is why we so often attribute fear to the fog/mist. Being limited or not being able to comprehend/visualize all that we would like to is scary, petrifying even. "Control-freak" or not, we all like some control.
Although everyone seems to comment on the "creepiness" of a foggy night or misty morning, I find it quite beautiful. It's somewhat daunting, but it is beautiful nonetheless. It is as if even nature begs us to be right where we are; it prevents from straining on to see what lies ahead.
It's mysterious.
It's as if some secret drama was being played out as we slept, and we are just catching the end of it. The thick curtain that forces us to slow down is giving way to the hubbub of the day as it dissolves peacefully in the emerging sunlight.
The rising sun adds color to the dull mist, and for about thirty minutes, I just want to sit and meditate on the ridiculous beauty that permeates everything around us and within us. I want to take time to paint the situation with words to recreate even a mere shadow of it. Beauty is compelling. It is so compelling in fact, that it is hard, for me at least, to hold evidence of something beautiful in.
The beauty of the cross is something I feel we too often hold in. We hold it in until it's convenient, acceptable, comfortable to share.
Isn't that the most beautiful thing we know?
It is a story of cosmic, physiological, psychological, historical, and spiritual significance, and yet, too often, we hold back our zeal to speak of it.
I, too, am guilty of this silence; I am a wayward Israelite. I have seen water gush forth from barren rocks and later been numbed to such miracles by time.
Time is a double-edged sword. Not only does it take away the sting of pain, but it can also dull the ecstasy of our joy if we allow it. I proclaim that we should allow it no more. We need to cling to Christ, the source of our joy, as if our lives depended on it. I tell you truly, our lives do depend on it.
Cling to Christ until your spiritual knuckles whiten. We are promised that when we grow weak, He will be strong. He will reenforce your weakened grip with His strong grip that has pulled you from the pit and out of the jaws of death. As we waver and sink into the waves, He will lift us into His embrace and His eternal salvation.
Time, that thing that can cause us to rejoice or waver, is much like water, like the ocean. It wears away at every thing. It's continual lapping, each day like a wave, not only serves to heal up wounds, but also serves to erode away the good and bad. Eventually time will have washed against you enough times to pull you to a place where time itself is irrelevant. Time is like an ocean that we must pass through in order to climb out onto a new shore. It is a long baptism; we enter the realm of time one way, but we exit it entirely changed.
On this new shore we will climb the beaches of the ethereal shore, perhaps even clumsily. Our Saviour, who has awaited us, will breathe on us and push the clumsiness from our very beings. He give us more than we could ever imagine, His complete presence.
We will not be separated in any way at all. His presence is of insurmountable importance; it is what we have desired since Eden.
We will finally be fed after gnawing on dust for centuries. We will finally feel healing after slapping on salve for eons. We will see clearly after looking upon reflections for decades. We will remember our caves no more and stretch our once tired limbs. Relief and resting rife with rejoicing will flood us from every direction. Every cell and fibre will be redeemed [if there even is such a thing as a cell at that point...].
Looking upon us will not be a wrathful, disappointed, angry father, but Abba.
Abba, the one who has planned such a day from the beginning. He will look on His prodigal children returned to Him at last after a long time apart. Laughter will shake the air, and the cosmos will tremble with delight for the bride has finally known her betrothed after a long engagement. The final veil will be shredded, all mists will lift, and perfection will be realized.
We will dwell and join in the work of the Lord's house forever.
This will all be for His glory alone.
Amen, Amen, Amen
Praise the Lord, oh my soul
The morning mist has always fascinated me. It looks like gauze, merely translucent, something you should be able to see right through, but you cannot.
Also, in the mist, you can only see what is immediately around you. I believe this limitation is why we so often attribute fear to the fog/mist. Being limited or not being able to comprehend/visualize all that we would like to is scary, petrifying even. "Control-freak" or not, we all like some control.
Although everyone seems to comment on the "creepiness" of a foggy night or misty morning, I find it quite beautiful. It's somewhat daunting, but it is beautiful nonetheless. It is as if even nature begs us to be right where we are; it prevents from straining on to see what lies ahead.
It's mysterious.
It's as if some secret drama was being played out as we slept, and we are just catching the end of it. The thick curtain that forces us to slow down is giving way to the hubbub of the day as it dissolves peacefully in the emerging sunlight.
The rising sun adds color to the dull mist, and for about thirty minutes, I just want to sit and meditate on the ridiculous beauty that permeates everything around us and within us. I want to take time to paint the situation with words to recreate even a mere shadow of it. Beauty is compelling. It is so compelling in fact, that it is hard, for me at least, to hold evidence of something beautiful in.
The beauty of the cross is something I feel we too often hold in. We hold it in until it's convenient, acceptable, comfortable to share.
Isn't that the most beautiful thing we know?
It is a story of cosmic, physiological, psychological, historical, and spiritual significance, and yet, too often, we hold back our zeal to speak of it.
I, too, am guilty of this silence; I am a wayward Israelite. I have seen water gush forth from barren rocks and later been numbed to such miracles by time.
Time is a double-edged sword. Not only does it take away the sting of pain, but it can also dull the ecstasy of our joy if we allow it. I proclaim that we should allow it no more. We need to cling to Christ, the source of our joy, as if our lives depended on it. I tell you truly, our lives do depend on it.
Cling to Christ until your spiritual knuckles whiten. We are promised that when we grow weak, He will be strong. He will reenforce your weakened grip with His strong grip that has pulled you from the pit and out of the jaws of death. As we waver and sink into the waves, He will lift us into His embrace and His eternal salvation.
Time, that thing that can cause us to rejoice or waver, is much like water, like the ocean. It wears away at every thing. It's continual lapping, each day like a wave, not only serves to heal up wounds, but also serves to erode away the good and bad. Eventually time will have washed against you enough times to pull you to a place where time itself is irrelevant. Time is like an ocean that we must pass through in order to climb out onto a new shore. It is a long baptism; we enter the realm of time one way, but we exit it entirely changed.
On this new shore we will climb the beaches of the ethereal shore, perhaps even clumsily. Our Saviour, who has awaited us, will breathe on us and push the clumsiness from our very beings. He give us more than we could ever imagine, His complete presence.
We will not be separated in any way at all. His presence is of insurmountable importance; it is what we have desired since Eden.
We will finally be fed after gnawing on dust for centuries. We will finally feel healing after slapping on salve for eons. We will see clearly after looking upon reflections for decades. We will remember our caves no more and stretch our once tired limbs. Relief and resting rife with rejoicing will flood us from every direction. Every cell and fibre will be redeemed [if there even is such a thing as a cell at that point...].
Looking upon us will not be a wrathful, disappointed, angry father, but Abba.
Abba, the one who has planned such a day from the beginning. He will look on His prodigal children returned to Him at last after a long time apart. Laughter will shake the air, and the cosmos will tremble with delight for the bride has finally known her betrothed after a long engagement. The final veil will be shredded, all mists will lift, and perfection will be realized.
We will dwell and join in the work of the Lord's house forever.
This will all be for His glory alone.
Amen, Amen, Amen
Praise the Lord, oh my soul
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)