When it came to me, the world trembled. Unsure of its now possibly threatened existence. Weary of the hands it now lay. These small incapable hands, now entrusted with a destiny beyond their understanding. The way seems bleak.
However, did it matter? Did it differ in what hands it where? A job needed to be done. Whether, or not I was capable or not no longer mattered. The task needed to be fulfilled. It didn’t matter if for me, to save the world was impossible. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was that it get done. Sometimes that’s the way it is, we must do the impossible, because that’s what is necessary. Do the unimaginable because this is what must be. We were given a job, a job we were made for. And though at times we cry out because it seems impossible, after all we’ve been through, all the mud, muck, and scum we’ve been living in, to then return to our father’s table. How can we approach Him? How do we return to whom we’ve abandoned? So sure that we’d survive, against His pleading, the tears burning His eyes stinging our soul, we turned our backs out of the foolish thought that we somehow knew better than the creator of all. How can we now apologize? How will it be enough? He’ll always accept us but it’ll never be the same…
And so, we continue our wallowing in our crime. Wallowing in our sorrow as our beloved begs for us to return. Wishing He’d never made such a world, for a father’s pain of lost is not worth the songs of a thousand sparrows. Not worth the praises of a million priests. Not worth the dances of a billion galaxies.
But what’s done is done. Now He waits, alone at a table for two. He ever awaits us to accept His invitation into our own home. To just let Him in. This is the daunting task which we all subconsciously fear. Can we do it? Can we begin to forgive ourselves so that we may heal, and perhaps, then so will He. In fact I’m sure of it. He guaranteed it. “The gates of heaven are always open to the tears of he who comes home.”