Might an idea contain and carry power so profound and strong it can shove the ground upon which the state of being anchors itself forward or upward a few inches?
I don’t mean the general endorphin induced euphoric slip which occurs ephemerally, after a really clever thought dances through the cortex. No, life returns to what it was, as these sorts of feelings fade like morning fog in fall.
Don’t get me wrong, such experiences, while spanning only a second or two, are lovely.
I’m talking about a concept, perhaps it will become a concrete cornerstone, which shifts the internal landscape of the faculties 4 or 5 degrees north, or maybe east, so that all which is surveyed and perceived from then forth will never be again what it would have been or tended to be previously.
The realization regards zoning laws and property lines of the spiritual universe, for in it was constructed untried infrastructure, a contemporary byway and a new but narrow gate into an old abode, a mansion which had stood before the beginning of the creation of day and night. But it had laid empty.
In the fullness of time, a heartbeat thumps. The moment is no more dramatic for its cruel disregard of the divine dignity of human life than the flash of millennium before it. But a new dawn arrives! The trumpet’s clarion call announces the dismissal of His long lament. “I visit my Kingdom, but my people know me not. They seem so far from me; this not what I want. On top of the basement, on top of Sheol, has always existed the mighty and extensive palace where I dwell. From whence-forth, they will have admittance into Our castle and they may remain with Us for Eternity. We have missed the joyous clamor of the children playing in the garden, dancing through the rooms and hallways.”
How has such a truth escaped me?
The manor house has always been, I knew that, but I did not understand the path to its door had not already been cut. Indeed, the tree had to be chopped, and the Son split open upon it, for the entrance to be made visual and the traverse to the steps be possible.
I do not ken how such an old teaching from timeless tutors had slipped by me. I know it now, or maybe again, but will it creep away as the morning fog in fall, or will it remain behind and beckon me forward?
© 2019 Marilyn MacArthur, all rights reserved
Writing to Pray 