6.10.2005

I hurt my back the other day, picking up a little girl named Grace. There might be a sermon illustration in there somewhere. I used my back instead of my legs (I KNOW there is an illustration in that). The last three days my movements have been, uh, limited, to say the least.

I had to drive out to pick up Rachelle at a friend's house. She had spent the night last night. All the way out there I was more than aware that my back was not happy with me. It would have preferred if I had stayed home and let someone else get my daughter. This was aggrivated by the fact that this friend lives about 30 minutes away -- it was a longer ride than my back wanted.

On the way out there however I became reacquainted with an old worship CD that we thought we had lost, but was recently returned to us, Glenn Kaiser's All My Days. Listening to it on the way out to pick up my daughter made the pain of the trip worth it. I worshipped and felt connected to God in a way that I don't feel as often as I would like, frankly. That is something that I miss. I miss the passion of some of my earlier days with Jesus. Maybe they are too subjective to go chasing after, I don't know. All I know is I miss that sense of God's nearness, subjective as it may be.

If I were to describe what it feels like, I suppose I would say that when I feel connected with God like that if feels almost tangible. My physical being is affected. There is a thinness to my conciousness, a thinness I can almost see through. The Kingdom "feels" close by. This reminds me of the Celtic concept I have heard of -- thin places -- physical spaces where there is a strong sense that the vail between heaven and earth is thin indeed, whispy and parting with the wind of the Spirit.

As I drove out to pick up my daughter this morning, there was a thinning of the vail, though it was not as thin as I would have liked. It was a foretast, a reminder of how thin it has been in the past, how thin I long for it to be more often than it is.

1 Comments:

At 5:10 PM, Anonymous Jay said...

Ahh . . . your getting old me laddie.

 

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