When night falls into morning, I wait for sunrise, and hope I see what I think I see, knowing all the time He sees the whole. I catch only glimpses of Him and of myself through dark glass.
I am reflection blurred; I am not revealed until He comes.
Let a man so consider us, as servants of Christ and stewards of the mysteries of God. Moreover it is required in stewards that one be found faithful. But with me it is a very small thing that I should be judged by you or by a human court. In fact, I do not even judge myself. For I know of nothing against myself, yet I am not justified by this; but He who judges me is the Lord. Therefore judge nothing before the time, until the Lord comes, who will both bring to light the hidden things of darkness and reveal the counsels of the hearts. Then each one’s praise will come from God.Even so, come Lord Jesus.
-1 Cor. 4:1-5
In the poetic world, my day looks a prayer. But my late-rise morning and half-mast brain demand concrete, grit, solidity. Something unromanticized. The "faithful" is hard today - God had better be worth it, remarks the Grump in me.
I'd rather not be revealed. I wish my life was a poem. I wish I could reduce me to words and light and pretty phrases, pull apart Scripture to make it fit, make me happy and resolved and faithful. But I can't reduce what I can't define, and God defines me, and I can't define Him, so there you have it.
I take myself too seriously, miss the forest for the trees. I'm a cliché trying not to be a cliché, conveniently forgetting my original comes from Him; I want to like what I see in me. Strange war, this schizophrenic meeting of His heart with my mind for transformation and renewal that seems all too elusive today.
I expect wait is a good idea. Better than "charging ahead recklessly" to repair my own broken humanity when I'd only be attempting to un-ruffle injured pride. It is good that His knowledge exceeds mine.