The chorus gets me every time.
The chorus gets me every time.
The aircraft shakes violently as debris breaks off into the wind. Rising smoke blurs my vision as my hands tremble to regain control. The aircraft begins to tilt downwards, and I instinctively reach for the lever to open the cockpit. However, the lever locks, and a cold chill runs up my spine.
The cold chill turns into ice, and I feel the moment slow to a freeze. My mind’s canvas unravels, and I see a young couple kneeling before an alter, receiving God’s grace. This picture blossoms into an image of a beautiful woman in a wedding dress walking down a familiar church aisle. Suddenly, tears flood the canvas, and I see a beautiful wife crying as she watches her husband go off to war. As she weeps, a young child beside her looks confused and asks where his father is going.
The canvas turns brittle and suddenly shatters into a million pieces. I hear a voice, a shouting voice, a familiar voice. I glance to the left and see my good friend flying dangerously close to me. I can barely make out his words,
“What will I tell her?!”
As tears begin to run down my bloodied face, the edges of my mouth curve into a sorrowful smile. I look into my friend’s eyes, then straight ahead, and shout,
“Tell her.. tell her I’ll be waiting!”
My friend nods, pulls up as fast as he can, and disappears into the clouds above.
They say that your life flashes before your eyes as death knocks on your front door.
They say that eternity opens before your eyes as death knocks down your front door.
However, in this moment, I prefer to open the front door, smile, and confidently say,
“C’mon then, let’s go find that blissful shore.”
Hear this play in your mind:
O come all ye faithful, joyful and triumphant,
O come ye, O come ye to Bethlehem.
Come and behold Him, born the King of angels;
O come let us adore Him, O come let us adore Him,
O come let us adore Him, Christ the Lord.
I used to have a wishy washy view of the hymn, “O Come, All Ye Faithful.” I visualized many finely dressed people slowly and solemnly walking to church on a snowy Christmas morning. This is a very common view of the hymn. But after my high school varsity soccer team won the state championship against our arch rival.. I finally understood the hymn.
Replay the hymn in your mind.. but visualize true triumph. Visualize a team sprinting to the middle of a field with tears of joy and shouts of victory. Visualize the bruised and beaten that has finally overcome the opponent. Visualize the heart of each individual as his hope has become a reality.
Because Christ was born to destroy the enemy and make victors of the underdogs,
And that is the true meaning of Christmas.
There were many rooms devoid of darkness.
This was not due to a chandelier, light bulb, or candle however,
But because of a young woman with a smile.
And as beautiful as her smile was, it was simply the forefront of her brightness.
Her true brightness came directly from her heart.
And if anyone was asked to define her with a single word,
The majority would simply say, “Joyful.”
It is a such small word, but she gave it such big meaning.
And if anyone asked her why she is so joyful,
She would simply reply, “Jesus took my burdens all away.”
However.. one night, while sitting outside,
She said something that completely took me off guard.
“A few years ago, my mom was diagnosed with terminal cancer,
And we’re not sure how much time she has left.”
Speechless. That’s what I was.
To see a joyful heart in the midst of such a trial takes the firmest of breath away,
Because it is a joy that cannot be fathomed.
It is a joy only worthy of a heart which can sincerely say,
“I’m so happy, and here’s the reason why;
Jesus took my burdens all away.”
I’ll never forget the young woman that didn’t just light up rooms with her smile,
She lit up hearts..
And if per chance, you ever meet her..
A chill runs up your spine and your eyes fly open. You take a step forward but gasp when your foot feels nothing and you fall down. In confusion, you quickly stand up and look in all directions. A cold and mysterious mist blurs your vision and encases you. Your breath escapes your lungs, and your sanity escapes your consciousness.
You take half a step forward in question of reality but are reassured by something: you feel an elevated step. Wait.. an elevated step? You rub your eyes and take a fearful step backward because there is nothing in front of you. To reassure your sanity, you kick the mist to clarify to yourself that there is nothing there, but once again, your foot hits an elevated step. While pondering this phenomenon, you lift your foot up onto the elevated step.
The mist floating all around you seems to whisper, “Up you go.” And so without further question, you take another brave step upward. A smile spreads across your face, and you laugh histarically. Your slow steps become an upward dash as the mist urges you farther and farther up. Time escapes your senses, and your sanity seems to be growing instead of diminishing.
Suddenly, your head pierces the top of the mist, and your eyes grow wide as you slowly walk up the final steps.
There was a very tall man.
And on one, final, concluding night,
In the midst of an extremely sorrowful and tear-filled crowd,
He shook a young man’s hand and said,
“I’m proud of you. You’re a man now.”
But those words held more than meaning..
They held moments.
And those moments cannot be fully described,
Nor can they be fully comprehended.
To translate those moments into words would degrade the very moments themselves,
Because words cannot fully reveal a soul touching another soul.
Words cannot fully fathom the depths of a heart being changed.
Words cannot fully grasp the tears of a child breaking down his walls of failure.
Words cannot fully paint the picture of a child bravely lifting his head under adversity.
Words cannot fully understand the story of a child becoming a man.
And yet, those moments.. happened.
So thank you;
Thank you for lifting me up to Christ
And for showing me what it means to be a man of God.
I might never be as tall as you,
But height was never what truly defined you,
And that is what matters.
Dear God, Your plan’s a masterpiece,
A true work of art.
Each stroke we might not understand,
But it all plays a part.
Dear God, Your timing’s perfect,
Even when our timing’s off.
The tick began with your Word,
And the tock though others scoff.
Dear God, You’re the only Hero
That would save a world of hate.
The only Hero that would give it all
To accept a wretched fate.
But dear God, You’re the only Savior
That would let His shade turn black,
Then accept the final stroke with grace
To bring His children back.