And so I am but a poor reflection…
I’ve pulled the curtain open to watch the snowfall by the light of the street lamp the way I always did when I was a child. Sitting in the semi-darkness with a warm blanket wrapped around my shoulders. The heavy book open to the place I always go when I know I need to start again.
“If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but have not love, I am nothing. If I give all I possess to the poor and surrender my body to the flames, but have no love, I gain nothing.
Love is patient,
Love is kind.
It does not envy,
It does not boast,
It is not proud.
It is not rude,
It is not self-seeking,
It is not easily angered,
It keeps no record of wrongs.
Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth.
It always protects,
Love never fails.
But where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues, they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away.
For we know in part and we prophesy in part, but when perfection comes, the imperfect disappears.
When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child.
When I became a (wo)man, I put childish ways behind me.
Now we see but a poor reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known.
And now these three remain: faith, hope and love.
But the greatest of these is love.” – 1 Corinthians 13
There are times when it is easy to love. Easy to hear His voice and feel His pleasure.
And then there are times…
Fallen face down, in the mud. An unloving mess.
A realisation of broken. A poor reflection of love.
Back in the trenches. Seeing my impatience. Aware of my selfishness.
Reminded of my lack of love.
Asking Him to break through again.
Don’t let me stay this way.
Don’t let this lack of love become too comfortable. It was seeking comfort that got me here in the first place.
I press my finger tips together in a gesture of prayer, my eyes drifting towards heaven and without words I share the ache. The one I have often tried to describe, tried to heap onto the shoulders of others. A burden that was not made for any of us. A heaven sized weight that is meant to be thrown into the grave. It reminds me why I need a saviour.
And so I am but a poor reflection, but there will be a time…