There’s a place in my heart where a fire burns undiminished. In it there are dreams, hopes, prayers not made public. They smolder in the refining flames, being formed and purified. The catch in my throat betrays the first whispers of their existence. Yet I hold them deeply in silent repose, watching and waiting, listening to the heartbeat of the Father as I yearn to draw close to him.
My approach is made possible by Christ’s righteousness applied to my life by God’s grace through faith in the finished work of Jesus Christ. It gives me boldness where there should have been trepidation. I enter into the throne room, fall to my face, and cry, “Holy! Holy! Holy!” And I listen. As he wipes my tears and washes my feet, he then commands me to go and do likewise. For the least. Where no one else will go. To the end of my days.
He reminds me that there is joy to be discovered and shared in the deep places of suffering. Where there is anger, he will infuse love. Loneliness will be displaced by honorable relationships. Dishonesty will be uprooted by integrity. Perversion will flee in the face of holiness. It is the practical stuff of doing life in obedience to Christ in a fallen world.
Somehow, in the spiritual messiness, God’s dreams in my heart will come to fruition. They will have matured enough to be made a reality. I will have matured enough to not torpedo their God-given purpose. Until then, I watch and wait in quiet prayer.