If Your Spirit is the ocean, flowing wildly in pattern and force, lulling me to sleep and roaring in unrestraint, then Your Son is the air, allowing by His purity my very next breath, alternative to the death I fully deserver. And You, my Master, are the shore, unchanging and warm, shifting and solid, beyond my comprehension in Your infinity.
If then, You are the sea, the air, and the shore, then I desire nothing other than to be forever adrift on the surface of the sea.
A lifeless form concedes more readily to the direction of waves, so dead I shall be. Mind awake, soul longing for life, heart pricked and gushing, but will surrendered.
And as I’m carried by You, Spirit, my eyes will ever be on You, Savior. And my face will shine with salt as You show me who I am and who I am not.
Gazing at You, carried by You, conveyed always toward You. As I die, the less often I struggle, the closer You get, the more I’m home.
Gazing at You, carried by You, knowing You’re my destination, what a paradise. Nothing to hear, see, or taste but vivid Salvation. Truth pervasive. No hiding or pretense or striving.
You are enough, my Jesus, and all I want in this life. Let today flow seamlessly into eternity, where I’ll sing praises to You that are untainted by death. I’ll lay my crowns down a million times and then start again.
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