Poverty
"Come. Come Unto Me," says Father. He sits and waits. Arms outstretched. Lap open. Ready and waiting. He has love in His eyes and lovely in His voice. He says again, "Come here child. Come unto Me."
She stands at His feet, pouting. Eyes downcast, lower lip protruding. She holds onto her satin night-night and pretends. Pretends she doesn't hear, doesn't see, doesn't want.
His invitation remains. He continues to gaze on her with compassion. He desires her heart, her small arms encircling themselves around His neck, her squeals of delight, her precious smile. He desires her nearness. But He waits. And He knows it must be her choice.
She continues standing alone. Outside the circle of His loving embrace. Her soul is fitful, unyielded, discontent. Finally, begrudgingly, she crawls onto His lap. She sits on the edge of His knee, looking outward, remaining distant, preferring to stay on the outer edge of the circle of His love. Longing to be touched by it, refusing to be consumed.
He reaches to embrace her, to whisper His love to her. He has a song He has been waiting to sing just for her. A song of deepest love and desire. A song to bless her life with. A song to fill her heart with the peace and joy she so longs for. A song to ease her tumultuous mind and reassure her of her worth in His eyes. He wants her to know she is precious-- worth more than kingdoms and riches-- worth dying for actually. That she is cherished. That she is His and He delights in her.
She remains fitful. Restless. Unable, or unwilling, to be stilled. She refuses to look upon loving eyes. Refuses to hear lovely voice. Refuses to believe words spoken for her own fitful heart. Refuses to surrender to loving embrace. Distracted, something catches her attention with its pretty lights and colors and mechanical dinging. Looking outward to find contentment and joy, she climbs down from His lap. Leaves the warmth of His great and loving embrace. Shutting out words of life. She climbs down, and is left empty. Turning her back on loving eyes, and lovely voice, she toddles away.
He sits and waits. Arms outstretched. Lap open. Ready and waiting. He has love in His eyes and lovely in His voice. "Come. Come unto Me."
She stands at His feet, pouting. Eyes downcast, lower lip protruding. She holds onto her satin night-night and pretends. Pretends she doesn't hear, doesn't see, doesn't want.
His invitation remains. He continues to gaze on her with compassion. He desires her heart, her small arms encircling themselves around His neck, her squeals of delight, her precious smile. He desires her nearness. But He waits. And He knows it must be her choice.
She continues standing alone. Outside the circle of His loving embrace. Her soul is fitful, unyielded, discontent. Finally, begrudgingly, she crawls onto His lap. She sits on the edge of His knee, looking outward, remaining distant, preferring to stay on the outer edge of the circle of His love. Longing to be touched by it, refusing to be consumed.
He reaches to embrace her, to whisper His love to her. He has a song He has been waiting to sing just for her. A song of deepest love and desire. A song to bless her life with. A song to fill her heart with the peace and joy she so longs for. A song to ease her tumultuous mind and reassure her of her worth in His eyes. He wants her to know she is precious-- worth more than kingdoms and riches-- worth dying for actually. That she is cherished. That she is His and He delights in her.
She remains fitful. Restless. Unable, or unwilling, to be stilled. She refuses to look upon loving eyes. Refuses to hear lovely voice. Refuses to believe words spoken for her own fitful heart. Refuses to surrender to loving embrace. Distracted, something catches her attention with its pretty lights and colors and mechanical dinging. Looking outward to find contentment and joy, she climbs down from His lap. Leaves the warmth of His great and loving embrace. Shutting out words of life. She climbs down, and is left empty. Turning her back on loving eyes, and lovely voice, she toddles away.
He sits and waits. Arms outstretched. Lap open. Ready and waiting. He has love in His eyes and lovely in His voice. "Come. Come unto Me."
posted by As For Me and My House | 5:51 AM
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