COME HOME, CHILD.

The compassion of the Lord is new every morning. The imposing grip of night cannot restrain the glimmer of the unveiled dawn. The sweet Spirit of God makes all things new and breathes upon all things the breath of life. Let us inhale. For sorrow may be with us for the present, but joy will surely come in the morning. There is hope. Resilient, tenacious, unwavering hope. There is a divine gaze that must be met...a security and freedom from striving and storms to be found in the eyes of him who has turned his eyes toward us. To direct our stare anywhere else is folly. To rest our attention any place else, madness...a self suffocation of our souls that can lead only to despair and dismay. I've felt yet again his tap on my shoulder. Yet again have I sensed his invitation...a call to lose myself forever in him that I may inevitably be thoroughly found. I have heard his call home...and for now at least, at this time, I will say: "Speak Lord. Your servant is listening.".