Oh, Praise Him…

Friday, November 19, 2004

In the light of yesterday's revelation, I find myself longing to renew my love for Him. I sang this morning for a group of college students. I shared the passages I had found yesterday, and fought tears as I shared with them that I had lost sight of my first Love, that Vision of beauty who captured my heart.

I sang about God's presence, about the comfort and peace and joy that can be found in the Savior's presence. What is it that I love about God? I guess as a human, it is my tendency to go searching for something tangible--but I promised once to love Him even if He wasn't tangible.

While we were worshiping this morning, however, something hit me--that I really could love Him for so much--He is God, holy, set apart,completely other from me. He is the Master of the Universe. He loves me. He sent Jesus for Me. I don't have much strength--but according to Psalm 18 this morning, my strength IS God. I want His heart in me. I have so much to learn. He is so much to seek.

But still, He is beautiful. I know. His heart, so real, so full of love, has been poured out in the world around me.

Lord, help me please to remember that the things that You take me through are to show me more of Your love that never, never, never fails.


All over the quiet plains, beneath the snow on the high mountains, rustling through the cattails that congregate along the water, you can feel the presence of a promise. On cold nights when you look at the sky, sometimes your breath catches in your throat at how bright the night can be. The dark spaces between the stars aren’t as dark as you thought they were; not nearly as dark as the tree line on the horizon, and as you stand there shivering with your hands bunched in your pockets suddenly you remember that you’re standing on a rock in the middle of space. Suddenly the notion that there’s a Someone who made it all and knows us all no longer seems quite so far-fetched; indeed, it seems too good to be false.

But here we toil and we till the hard earth, where even the warm times with friend and kin are lonely because we know they won’t last long enough to quiet the ache. Our sadness points to Home the way hunger points to the feast, the way the light of the cratered moon is always facing the sun, always pointing to where the dawn will come like a pillar of fire when this rock we walk on turns again to burning day. All over the quiet plains and the cold stone cities full of dying and shame the promise is not drowned out by the weeping; it is declared by it.

God died as a man and rose again, and the sound of the fiery blast of Death exploding shook the firmament. Throughout the wail and shudder, over the shriek and moan of man the thunder has sounded and sung, and it is both the answer and the promise. It sings still, and you can hear what it says if you listen: Love never fails.

~Andrew Peterson


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