Today I threw away a dozen roses.
Beautiful long-stemmed blossoms over two weeks old, now withered, with crispy-edged petals.
Fresh flowers come with sadness. Their sweet faces mask a longing that their beauty would not fade.
And yet, their fate is precisely what makes them so precious. They exist now. Their deep hues spew happiness– especially because they will not last.
Indigenous to our hearts this longing yearns for flowers to last forever, for death to die. For hurts to be kissed away and for goodness to always prevail.
He, and I, believe the world for which we yearn is heaven.
Wrapped in the anguish of fading rose petals sit droplets of worship – that deep and unquenchable longing for what will last, for the One who will never fade or disappoint, for the One who fashioned our hearts for relationship.
More than we long for Him, incredibly, He longs for us.
Deep calls to deep from beyond time into our eternity.
“Come to me.”
Ready for Sunday
If I only knew how much He desires to meet with me I would spend my life in His arms, always worshiping. Draw me nearer, O my God.