church · faith

all these little kings

Rage. Humans do it so often and so completely. It burns. It sears. It pierces and thrashes through our skin like a bullet. Not like a bullet, it IS a bullet. It is hateful and venomous and it will kill us.

Why do the nations rage? Why do the people plot in vain?

It is all these little kings. We watch these little kings, plotting, scheming, hating, rebelling, gathering their weapons and thinking that’s the same as power. We have made ourselves little empires and little domains. We think we’re in control. We think we’ll win. We think we’re right and better and stronger and smarter.

Be wise. Be warned, o little kings. Anyone who serves any other god, idea, notion, religion, government, scheme, plan, person, place, or thing will not make it. You will not make it.

I am weary of this world. I am tired of the news. I want to retreat away and bury my face in a long, soft, peaceful pillow. I long to be home. But I AM home. I remember God’s glory is my home, my base, my domain, and my only goal. For now and for ever. I am reminded by His sweet Spirit that He is not done, that He is building a homebase in me, in my family, in my neighbor, in His people for always for as far as the eye can see and so much farther beyond that.

And I am still here to see it happen. I am learning to look for it, indeed to make it with His hands and His feet. Do not grow weary any longer, daughter. Do not give up, son. But do give in to the One King, the King on the hill, the King of Love and Grace, the King who still sits, even still, on His throne and can laugh – even laugh – at our attempts to power up. He will brush it all away with a word – no, a mere thought – and He will make His Church, His Bride, His Glory known throughout all time and place, even now in glimpses and for certain on that glorious day.

Until then, we hope. We wait. We work. We believe. We kiss the Son, my friends. Kiss the Son. And take refuge with me.
(Psalm 2 ESV)

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