How quickly I slip away.
Wasn’t it just last week I felt the burn of Your Word in me?
Oh. That long?
Has it really been that long?
O Lord, spit me not out; lukewarm and comfortable…
It doesn’t seem so many weeks ago, but I guess it was. Approaching the bubbling heat of His call, stoked by the flames of implanted scripture, of persistent seeking.
I could scarcely dip a toe in. So fearsomely hot.
Scalding away apathy.
Stepping in with surprise: expectancy and pain meet, with sharp intake of breath. Ever gradually, I am immersed, slipping in till I am swallowed up in the burning warmth. Every cell feels tinglingly alive, and I am seared with heat to the depths of my soul. My very countenance is reddened, aglow from the burning within.
Gradually, ever-so-gradually, I can relax. Settling into the warmth; sitting back, stretching out, I become comforted and comfortable. Acuity gives way to complacency. Passion yawns and relaxes, unwilling to emerge from the now decadently-warming waters of His presence. I know I’ve got to arise, to brave the cold and stoke the fire and join Him in this work in me.
But it’s so nice…just to sit here…and close my eyes…
I’m not even aware of when it happens: when the heat wanes, when the fire dims. And yet, here I sit, in these tepid, still waters. With glazed eyes I notice the bubbling has stilled. Where once I was surrounded with life-giving motion, all is now stagnant.
I come to my senses.
And I am cold. Shriveled and shivering; with a critical spirit, a biting tongue. Pursed lips. Frown lines etched all the way to my soul.
With devastated revelation I emerge from the now-lukewarm waters of this present dimness.
But it’s not too late.
It’s never too late.
The embers of His Presence ever glow, beckoning me to enduring warmth.
With a stoking of prayer and praise, fueled by His Word, the fire will burn hot again.
And so I begin anew.
