So, after hours of fidgeting yesterday, today the blog works just fine. I haven’t messed with colors and such much, but at least I’m live and writing.
My favorite (at least lately) verse in the Bible is from the “sinner’s prayer” when the tax collecter whose sins were clear to the world, and who had no hope beyond the grace of God, calls out “Have mercy on me, a sinner!” In Russian, the word for sinner in this context is “greshniku.” Because I want to approach God with that kind of humility - and hope - I’ve become rather attached to the word, and see is as a reminder of who I am, and how much I’ve been given.
I wrote the following the other day, and it’s amazing how much it fits into this theme. I didn’t even plan it this way!
I walk tentatively toward Your throne, My eyes are cast down, yet I know You’re watching me. The loud and varied sounds begin to hush around me. Some of the sounds are joyous - those who already have been granted freedom in Your presence. The silence they slip into is full of compassion and peace. They remember. The cries of those clamoring for Your attention, desperate that You grant them some large or small favor, grow still, but that silence is full of tension, anger, and judgment. They do not want me here. They don’t understand You, though. They don’t understand that You invited me - that You’ve been inviting me my whole life.
My fingers brush absently at my soiled and torn gown. I believe it was once brilliant and white. I’ve heard that it used to glimmer with unearthly radiance. But it’s been passed down to me for thousands of years. Each wearer added her own stains, and I, too, have left on it terrible, deep marks and blemishes on my journey to You. I fell so many times, and the blood and muck, the tears and rips, have joined the others to make all that was once glorious about it now completely unrecognizable.
The shame of appearing before You in such a state almost causes me to stop. I hesitate, just for a moment, wondering if I should wait until I’m cleaner, prettier, more put together before I come before you. But then I remember the last note you sent me. So tender and gentle, so full of love and urgency.
“Come to me, now, my dear. Come while you carry too much, while your shoulders sag from the weight of it all. You’re bruised and wounded, and the world continues to bear down on you. Come to me so I can carry you. I love you and I will never leave you. Let me hide you under my wings. Let me give you a new heart and a new songs. Let me lighten your load and wash you white as snow.”
Your words trickle through my mind like the water I long to drink. My journey’s been so long and slow, but I’m so very close to You. Maybe You can’t really keep those promises You so convincingly wrote to me, but my heart soars with the idea that maybe You can.
I look up, my eyes filling with the tears of a thousand thoughts. I’m surprised that Your eyes, too, are wet and hopeful. I walk forward with new confidence. Everything else fades away - all the revelers and their songs, all the politicians and their demands - and there’s only You. You’ve risen from Your throne, You’re taking first steps then leaps toward me. All at once, I find myself wrapped in Your arms. You hold me tight and I can feel Your tears in my hair and hear You whispering “Finally! Oh, finally you’re here! How I’ve waited and hoped you’d come.”
And as I cling to You, I notice the tiniest white sparkle shine like a diamond on my tattered gown. And I know, at last, I’m home.