perspective

It is Sunday. I am seated on a magenta colored pew, several rows from the front of the sanctuary. The pastor up front giving the announcements asks us to all scoot to the center of our rows, to make room for more people.

Six years, one month and twenty-four days earlier I was asked the same thing by a different pastor of the same church. The same question in a different building, with different people, though some of them might remember that Sunday in July when we gathered inside white stucco, in a building not our own. Hot skin stuck to wooden pews and to those on either side without prejudice, and still we were asked to scoot closer, to make room. Standing room only in the back, both then and now.

I don’t remember the words he spoke that Sunday in July. My notes from that sermon are brief: “Sermon: Prayer and relationship with God is about how you posture yourself and less about action.” Today his words are of God’s beginning to end perspective, are of the ways we despair in conflict, my notes are longer, in outline format.

One month and twelve days later I am in the same magenta pew, several rows from the front. I sit heavy in my seat, distracted. I search for some concept, some thing to ground my thoughts, to center them. It is when he talks of life long story perspective versus momentary perspective that my thoughts catch, that my mind focuses. The same idea that caught my attention and made me recall my first time in this particular branch of the Body just over a month ago catches my attention again.

I am wrecked.

I am in awe of my ability to forget.

Dismayed at the ease with which I am content to gaze intensely at this moment, forgetting where I’ve come from, forgetting that which He has led me through. I forget cool mountain breezes, and days next to fresh streams of clean water. I forget drinking deep of Him, a thirst forever quenched. I forget healing. I forget rest. I forget protection.  I forget love and provision.

I see only desert. The saliva, thick, as my tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth, and I ache for water. I search for shelter, for some respite from this heat. The sand hot beneath tired feet, and I wonder how much longer this desert will last. I forget that I have known more than desert.

Aware of my forgetfulness, I step back and look beyond the sand.

I remember more than just this moment, more than just today.

I consider God’s infinite perspective, and the kind intention of His will, and I am thankful for this desert wasteland. Because if this is where I am in this moment, if this is where He has brought me, and if He is here, then this desert is the most beautiful place to be.

Tagged as: desert place, perspective, the faithfulness of God