Reading through the gospels, I try to press myself onto the pages - to see and taste and touch. I'm part of the crowd sitting on a hillside watching as He takes a little boy's meager lunch and feeds thousands of hungry souls.
I come, pressing through the throngs of people, to watch as He heals the lame, gives sight to the blind and frees the demon possessed. My heart thunders as, with a loud voice, He calls Lazarus from the tomb.
I listen to the parables as one whose heart is devoid of the Holy Spirit and wonder if I would have had ears to hear. With no one to explain, would I have understood?
He stands, this humble, ordinary looking man, and makes the astounding claim that He is the Son of God. I look at Him and wonder, consider all the miracles I've seen. But didn't the prophets do the same? How can it be that this poor man who doesn't even have a place to lay His head is the longed for Messiah? Would I turn and walk away when the controversy surrounding Him became too heated? Would I follow the crowd, bend over and pick up a stone? (John 8:59)
I sit in my comfortable little chair. Sunshine pours through the window and spills across the table. I am here, with my Bible, books, teachers, preachers, unlimited resources and the Holy Spirit residing deep within - and still faint shadows of doubt obscure the light. I pray; give me an undivided heart Lord. And now, as then, He reaches out in love and draws this fickle heart to Himself.
I am joining my sweet Laura today: