I think of Christ.
And why does my heart break a little at seeing that powerful limb lie dying on the frozen ground? It hurts that it should be broken under the weight of glory. It’s so heavy, this glory.
I think of Christ.
I long for glory. I search for it even now. I fear it, too.
I would read later from C.S. Lewis about glory,”…a load so heavy that only humility can carry it, and the backs of the proud will be broken….”
And I think of Christ.
Only humility can carry the weight of glory. He did. And the back of sin was broken. The back of my own pride breaks and falls hard splitting whoosh.
I broke doing that. And I break daily and fall down and search out more glory doing this.
I think of Christ now, yes.
“Behold, I am the handmaiden of the Lord; let it be done to me according to what You have said” (Luke 1:38). And I make Mary’s song my own.
“May my soul enlarge and draw attention to Your glory."
I am learning to say this. And to mean it. To mean it when the journey jostles mule steps over loose rocks on the path. When sand shifts donkey beneath plod. To mean it when the walk is more than I meant when I first said it.
And I’m learning to say it right. Not like Zacharias'," “How will I know?” But, “How can this be?” The question is confirmation. It’s, “This will be. But how?” It’s, “It is what it is. But how do I do this?”
I say it when what it is threatens all I value most and I say it when too many little “Do’s” become too much. I say it. And the saying is reminder. I am the handmaiden of the Lord.”
I hear now the clamor at door. It’s “Do.” And my nerves are rattled by all expected December doings. “Do, do, do” pounds bam-bam-bam.
"How?” I frustrate out.
“Listen to Me. I am with you.” Soul womb enlarges.
I try to listen past “Do.” And breakfast needs making for my German. Must be done now because he has a meeting to do. And before I’m in kitchen “Do” slams fist on soul door.
“How?!” This maiden hand wants to slap “Do” hard.
“Listen to Me. And make breakfast. And listen.” I hear.
I take out eggs.