Before the web closes
Before the web closes, I must make my statement. I must write down for myself the visions I've seen. If I don't, I know they'll fade to unreality. The enemy's web will not snare my dreams again!
I see myself in a white button-up shirt of thicker material - slightly ragged at the edges. I'm standing in front of them, proclaiming things I do not yet know. My arm is outstretched, as if reaching for that I communicate, or maybe to impart. It's that concrete building - the yellow one. The rows of faces fade back into the darkness, just as the visions of before. But it's the yellow building now; I know! It will come to pass, even if I recognise scars on that man's soul I will not enjoy walking through. He is me, but he's hit a hard road and walked it.
I see Her beside him - beside me - too. Not an angel, but a companion. Not a dream, but a reality. Not perfect, instead a compliment. Standing, supporting, loving, simply being. I almost feel I know her now... an identity almost within my knowledge. But not yet. It is a reality that will be, and that is cause enough to celebrate. Just for a moment, it felt so right - so complete. I'd like to feel that again...
All this, to be me. All this, for simple faithfulness. I wonder what shape those new scars are? This is a promise that will complete at least the beginning of my life's goals. This is a promise from the Almighty.
But then I saw the reality of what I am. I saw what will be, what has been, what qualifies me. I wept for those who chose slavery. I wept for those who did not know they could be freed. Then I saw how hard it was to pay the price for their freedom. I dearly want to pay that price! But it is the highest price! You cannot be anything less than a broken fool on parade to the world if you would set these people free. There is no other man who could do what is required.
What would you do if you were asked to pay a price that was beyond counting? I struggle with tears to come to terms with that price. I want to, but the pain is so terrible and I am not yet desperate enough. To break my will and pride completely, to bend my actions unswervingly to His requests. That is my war.
He sacrificed far more for my life, and even after that He saw fit to heal me of the afflictions I brought upon myself. For that, my heart responds in only one way: to spread His infinite grace!
I see a warrior without armour. His body is crossed with scars of glowing gold. His eyes hold a white flame. There are crimson marks on his wrists and ankles from the bindings that held him. In his left hand is the sword of Life, and in his right the sword of the Word. His left hand has life tattooed in shining letters across the knuckles, while his right palm shows a glowing cross. His hair is matted, and his muscles fairly bulge. He roars challenges to the enemy as he crosses the valley. Yet he is still bound and limited. They capture him and he writhes and turns. The cruel laughter spurs on his struggles, but he cannot break the bonds. As he struggles, he calls out for help. There is a sick feeling in his stomach - the creatures around him make him want to vomit by their sheer presence. He roars and rages, but cannot escape.
Where is his freedom? Why do I wake before he is freed? Free the warrior! Free him please?
I see myself in a white button-up shirt of thicker material - slightly ragged at the edges. I'm standing in front of them, proclaiming things I do not yet know. My arm is outstretched, as if reaching for that I communicate, or maybe to impart. It's that concrete building - the yellow one. The rows of faces fade back into the darkness, just as the visions of before. But it's the yellow building now; I know! It will come to pass, even if I recognise scars on that man's soul I will not enjoy walking through. He is me, but he's hit a hard road and walked it.
I see Her beside him - beside me - too. Not an angel, but a companion. Not a dream, but a reality. Not perfect, instead a compliment. Standing, supporting, loving, simply being. I almost feel I know her now... an identity almost within my knowledge. But not yet. It is a reality that will be, and that is cause enough to celebrate. Just for a moment, it felt so right - so complete. I'd like to feel that again...
All this, to be me. All this, for simple faithfulness. I wonder what shape those new scars are? This is a promise that will complete at least the beginning of my life's goals. This is a promise from the Almighty.
But then I saw the reality of what I am. I saw what will be, what has been, what qualifies me. I wept for those who chose slavery. I wept for those who did not know they could be freed. Then I saw how hard it was to pay the price for their freedom. I dearly want to pay that price! But it is the highest price! You cannot be anything less than a broken fool on parade to the world if you would set these people free. There is no other man who could do what is required.
What would you do if you were asked to pay a price that was beyond counting? I struggle with tears to come to terms with that price. I want to, but the pain is so terrible and I am not yet desperate enough. To break my will and pride completely, to bend my actions unswervingly to His requests. That is my war.
He sacrificed far more for my life, and even after that He saw fit to heal me of the afflictions I brought upon myself. For that, my heart responds in only one way: to spread His infinite grace!
I see a warrior without armour. His body is crossed with scars of glowing gold. His eyes hold a white flame. There are crimson marks on his wrists and ankles from the bindings that held him. In his left hand is the sword of Life, and in his right the sword of the Word. His left hand has life tattooed in shining letters across the knuckles, while his right palm shows a glowing cross. His hair is matted, and his muscles fairly bulge. He roars challenges to the enemy as he crosses the valley. Yet he is still bound and limited. They capture him and he writhes and turns. The cruel laughter spurs on his struggles, but he cannot break the bonds. As he struggles, he calls out for help. There is a sick feeling in his stomach - the creatures around him make him want to vomit by their sheer presence. He roars and rages, but cannot escape.
Where is his freedom? Why do I wake before he is freed? Free the warrior! Free him please?
posted by Merlz at 3:55 AM
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