Sunday, April 22, 2012

He read it

He stands on the front porch of His Kingdom.

With only a glance, the seraphim know His command, and they chime bells that ring pure and holy.

He sits on a rocking chair of pure gold—and opens a book.

Never tired of hearing His words, we gather around our King. The chiming bells grow quiet. He rocks a bit and reads in silence. And then, He tilts back, and laughter booms like thunder. His eyes shine and His smile glows.

We've been here thousands of years, or maybe just a few—I don’t know, since time no longer exists—but we’ve never gotten bored. Each moment is something new. Just as we catch our breath, it's taken again, as we view another aspect of the glory and splendor of this wonderful heaven.

Like right now, is something new. Maybe it’s the way He’s rocking in that chair, or maybe, it’s the twinkle in His eye, but for some reason—He reminds me of my grandpa, Bill. Once upon a time—for what seemed like a blink—grandpa and I were on earth, to make our decision, where we’d spend eternity. I decided to follow Jesus, and I didn't know until I got here—Grandpa Bill did, too. On earth, Grandpa was always laughing, with that twinkle in his eye. He’d show my picture to his buddies—or anyone who happened to be near—and brag about the fish we'd caught. To his dying day he’d kept every letter I’d sent—and I was told—he even memorized a few.

I whisper. "Maybe the Lord is going to read to us, again." It’s so amazing – The Word reading The Word. It comes to life - literally. I wonder what new awesomeness He'll share with us this time.

But then, He looks up. He's looking for someone. He's calling a name...

My name.

My name?

Grandpa Bill is next to me. He raises one eyebrow, smiles and nods toward the rocking chair throne.

I’m excited beyond comprehension and walk toward the King. With every step I breath the word; holy.







I reach where His glory illuminates the staircase, which leads to where He’s seated.

I bow—more like I fall, face down—and cry; “Holy, holy, holy are you Lord God almighty. Holy and awesome and true are You.”

He stands, walks to me, and lifts my head. He lifts my head.

He actually stood to greet me

He hugs me… Amazing Love wraps me, saturates me.

And then we sit.

He opens the book. An, I'm- so- proud- of- you smile fills his face.

I wonder if He’ll ask me to read.

An innumerable sea of saints, stand before Him. On earth, this would have scared me to death, but here—no fear. Just Love.

He's going to read.

He clears His throat – just to be funny. Lifts the document, as if trying to focus his eyes on the words—just like Grandpa Bill used to do—and then, with a twinkle in His eye, He begins to read.

What’s He reading? It’s familiar, but not from His Holy Scripture. I’ve heard it before—but where?

I look at the hands holding the book, beautiful, but scarred, where nails once pierced deep—for me.

I watch the lips speaking words being read—lips that once were swollen, from being punched, and then quivered through blood, “Father forgive them, for they know not what they do.”

I notice His eyes. He’s still speaking words from the book, but He has no need to read, since He knows them all by heart...And He’s looking right at me. 

And then I recognize the words...they're mine...written about Him.

The words I’d penned to Grandpa when he’d gotten sick. I wrote about how Jesus left heaven and became a man. How He was tempted to sin but didn’t—ever. How He was beaten and rejected and killed, but that was actually His plan. He wanted to pay the price for our sin. So, anyone who would accept Him, could live in Heaven, rather than hell. I wrote about how I had asked Jesus to save my soul. And then I told Grandpa, we could live together forever, if he’d accept Jesus too. It wasn’t long after I’d mailed the letter that Grandpa died.

I wasn’t even sure if he’d read it.

Just as I start to ask why He'd saved this letter, and why now He'd read it.

A vision of Grandpa sitting in his hospital bed appears. He folds wrinkled shaky hands and bows his head to pray...I see a tear stained letter on his lap.

There’s more.

I see a nurse next to Grandpa’s bed. She’s reading. The tear stained letter in her hand starts to shake. A doctor walks in. He questions her tears. She hands him the letter. He reads and bows his head, too.

I shake my head. "I never knew." And then I see Grandpa Bill, standing in front of us. His smile extends from ear to ear, and the twinkle in his eye resembles his King. And behind him, saints line up, as far as I can see. Each one with a story to tell—about a letter I wrote...that I never even knew got read.
Malachi 3:16

"Then they that feared the LORD spake often one to another: and the LORD hearkened, and heard it, and a book of remembrance was written before him for them that feared the LORD, and that thought upon his name."

Ecclesiastes 11:1

"Cast thy bread upon the waters: for thou shalt find it after many days."

Matt. 19:30

"But many that are first shall be last; and the last shall be first.



"Her little notes were written for her eyes only. To help keep her mind stayed on Thee.
But others saw. Now didn't they? They always do."

* Above is a quote from a post, Mom's Treasure. That post got me to thinking about awards; Heaven’s Awards resulting in two posts; this one and Unread.


Steve Finnell said...

you are invited to follow my blog

Kerry said...

Yes!! Powerful, Doug. I teared up, and then thought about some letters I wrote to two precious relatives dying of cancer...I hope to see them again:

"Soon we’ll come to the end of life’s journey
And perhaps we’ll never meet anymore
Till we gather in Heaven’s bright city
Far away on that beautiful shore"

One of my favorite songs by Selah.

Doug Spurling said...

Steve, thanks for the visit and the invite

Kerry, thank you for your kind words. When writing I had to stop more than once because the screen went blurry through tears.

Linda Maynard said...

Doug...You have such a lovely way of describing life with the Lord.
It reminded me again, of the morning, awhile before my dad died, of a message from the Lord to my dad. It was written, as personally from the Lord Himself.
I remember, while writing it so fast, that it seemed like it was being downloaded into my brain.
My dad, listened politely, as I read it to him. By his demeanor, I saw little reaction. But the Lord spoke to me very clearly and said " Do NOT look at his face...just trust me that I am doing a work in his heart"
I would bring the letter and reread it to him often, when I went to visit him.
Again, I was reminded not to look for man's to speak.
Your post just brought the memory, the hope and the assurance from the Lord, that those words took root and produced life in my dad. Thanks Doug

Doug Spurling said...

Linda, Thank you! I just found your comment--sorry it took so long. We cannot determine what God is doing by the look of man, circumstances or our feelings. You will see His hand at work... however - maybe not this side of heaven.