A Prose of Praise to the One who Saved Me.


Actually, this title is misleading. I know not what will come of this late night inspiration of necessitated typing. A prose? An essay? A treatise, perhaps? Ah, the leading of a Spirit whose word made the world! I sit here at my desk, 1:30am, and I just got home from work – a long 8 1/2 hour closing shift at a casual dining restaurant. I smell like smoke, I feel like grease, and all I can think about is getting all this out into the world for all to read.

God has been so amazing. Ushering me into a time of effectual Grace, intimacy, and stilling, I know not what He’s doing and why. I have to wake Him often from the cabin of the boat of my soul to step out and calm the storms – those torrid uprisings of emotions, pains, doubts, fears – the sea foam blocks my view, the winds push me about, but still, still my God rescues me. He has been drawing me to an intimacy I’ve never known. The intimacy of one alone on a wooded path that curves so sharply at every bend, you never know what’s coming – though you know where it’s going the whole time. I recall the first theological dilemma my developing mind ever tried to grasp and couldn’t. Not the usual trinity, eternity, or who created God, but the verses in 1 John that talk of God being in us, and we in Him at the same time. What? I walk down this path alone but never by myself as an Incarnation walks before me, a Father pushes behind me, and a Comforter stills me.

Ah, stills me.

That stilling of my soul that still stirs me now. Be still, my soul; be still. Ah, to feel the waves and storms turn to crystal waters reflecting the Glory of a God reflected in the sunset reflected in the water reflected in my soul. I love Him so little. I must have more. Daddy, give me more! Give me more! Be still, my soul; be still. Ah. . . to find one’s face upon the cold linoleum of a darkened night pillowed by tears flowing from a familiar hymn that carries with it more weight than it probably should but breaks you nonetheless because of recent reminisces of 2 1/2 months one is trying to forget. To see the God of the universe speak through the shuffle an Apple-gizmo-i-whatever to that damn song once more! to call God to Be Now My Vision and to Give Me Clean Hands as I try not to think of You and Me as My Soul Sings forevermore How Great You Are O God! Holy, Holy, Holy is the Lord God Almighty; who was and is and is to come!

As every facade by the hands of men comes crashing down about me, I’m quieted by the one support left still standing. A support that stands in silent adoration of the unfaltering faith of a broken woman who laid the foundation right. I stand on the shoulders of a Giant named Mama. Her faithfulness and prayers- the prayers she taught me- like the one when I was as young as five to always pray for my future wife. O my Beloved, how I long for you. So much more than I should. or should I? I don’t quite know. All I do know is that the faith of one woman is what will bring me to you in the glory of a Solomon, strong and worthy of trusting with your heart. Why did this typing turn to this topic? Am I meant to write these words? O God, if not, lead me to stop. Please stop me! Be still, my soul; be still. Daddy, speak through me as you will, as you want, as you must. Do this work. Oh Beloved, this is all for you – wherever, whoever, whenever if ever, you are. I’m meditating in the field. Draw your veil as I approach your beast of burden, led by One who works on my behalf to bring me to you. Why am I writing this? For whom? Me, or another? I don’t know.

Be still, my soul; be still.

The end is here as I prepare to fall more in love with the one whose Bride I am, for my next night of 60 minutes of time I give to His love letter, His praise, to Him. The time He has called me to only in the past few days, to give him 1/24th of my day devoted entirely to Him, everyday, to draw close to Him, or for Him to draw close to me – whichever. I am in Him, and He is in me.

I’m off to have couch time.

Daddy: still my soul; still my soul . . .

Until another restless night of meandering thoughts,

–paul<

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