See how his hand trembles, this giant of a man.See how it fumbles with soft leather strap, almost inept.
Hear broken sobs, from the given heart.
Watch him blink away tears so he can see what he's doing--
See to bind his son. His promised son.
By some reflex my head turns in real life, eyes squinted shut. As if to say "I don't want to watch this happen."
But you know what I find almost more amazing?
See how his hand takes those straps, steady and strong.
See how he binds himself, soothes the broken, himself blinking away tears.
This strong son. The promised one.
- - - - -
Four words-- This morning I pondered with tears what it must take to stand like a rock, on a breaker out in the tide while the waves crash over. Like lighthouses do...
Because you, I, we... We're out there, and the sandy shore from whence we've come is washing out, getting ever more distant. Carried away by churning foam while the water around gets deeper.
I mean, there's the clinging, the scratching, the white-kunckled hold. But anemones and starfish have many more hands than we do. And none of them are permanent fixtures.
So it must be, that to stand rock-like, we need nothing less than to be bound to that rock by a power outside of our own. Greater than our own. Bound so firmly that neither fear nor fatigue can ever make us ask for release of reprieve.
Because it's in the midst of the worst storms that the world most needs lighthouses...
Prisoner on the rock. ...to the Rock.
Bind yourself there.
Love you forever.