Blinded

Perched on the kitchen stool, I waited for the others to appear so we could leave for church. I was a little early, as is my wont. I closed my eyes and sought God's presence, which I hadn't done for several days. Visiting with family, taking a 1350 mile road trip, going to a graduation, and helping prepare an old house for a repainting had filled every day with voices, laughter, serious discussion and physical activity.

So I sat, erect and inwardly thirsty, asking my heavenly Father to come. I waited, expectantly, and soon I felt the familiar tingling in my head which I have come to associate with the presence of the incredible God whom I worship and who is amazingly always ready to interact with me.

His peace and love poured into me, over me, ready to pour out through me, and I recognised once again how much I miss when I don't give him my time and attention. I inhaled slowly, lingering over the reality of his presence within me.

When I opened my eyes, I noticed the California sun filtering through some of the slats of the blind on the kitchen door. The sun was strong, revitalising, and warm, but the blind was  pretty effective in shutting it out. There were, though, a few random slats which were caught on bits of cord and slightly askew, allowing the sunlight to filter in.

I had been walking in the half light for the last few days. The blinds were down, and heaven's rays could not penetrate fully. But where there were gaps, the light of God's love shone in, prising open my sleepy heart and exciting a reminder of the awesomeness of Jesus.

The blinds are once again fully open so that the sunshine of God's love and life can blaze on my being and restore my energy and joy.

Yippee. Or as they say more formally in church, hallelujah!