Sunday, July 31, 2011


Gently, the pages are opened. Gently they are felt under hand, each precious letter holding something, some long sought after treasure. And the voices come, across time they float, glide, living, breathing, into my head, into my heart. Some are heard like the mighty crash of ocean waves, while others whisper in my ear as silent as a gentle breeze, more felt than heard. Angry, tired, indignant, joyous, sorrowful, overflowing with joy, grieved, laughing, they are all different, each bearing a different emotion. Each paints an individual story and none are the same. Their stories are as different and colorful as the voices that bring them to life. Yet, they each have a common thread, a cord that binds them together as surely as if they were one. Ever pointing to one thing, ever singing the same song, speaking if only in shadow, of that which was coming and came.

My hand passes over the thin pages, taking delight in the crinkling song they sing out with each one turned. Skimming down the text, words begin to take form and spring to life before my eyes. I am amazed by the detail put into this book, how there is no question that each word was carefully thought out, weighed in the balance, and written out so very long ago. I am becoming lost in the stories as the greatest of adventures are told. And the voices speak of things unimagined. Things that seem so long ago, yet because of what they point to, as if they were happening in my own life...and in some ways, they are. For the voices tell of those who were unworthy, the least, the ones who surely should not have been used to accomplish what they did. They tell me of how they could not speak, of how some were but children, and others the oldest in their society, awkward and stumbling. They speak and laugh and wail of what they were burdened for, what their hearts ached for, what they took joy in...and through it all the cord still runs. Like a golden light burning through each life, always and forever pointing to but one thing. And I smile. For if that golden cord, if that burning light could be so strong and bright in these lives, in these voices that fill my days, then I am assured. I am assured that though this life of mine is lowly and means nothing, it can be used despite of me, to point as their's did, to that one, glorious thing. And I smile. And my heart echoes the beat of the hearts the voices speak of in this beautiful book in my hands....Jesus....

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