Native Hope

I am a citizen of a country not yet seen, where time and tears are unknown. Where stresses and disappointment cannot live.  Here I flow in rhythmic conversations with the One who made all that is seen and unseen.  And I ask Him lots of questions on days when I need a dish of His Hope more than food.

 

I am a native of a country that is not of this world. I am endemic of blazing sunrises that warm the face, brisk winds that fill sails, and colors never seen. I am a daughter of Heaven.  And yet there are days when the heart bursts over the pain in your child’s heart that is visible on the outside in the way she tries her best to smile.  There are days when the One gives me glimpses into the downcast eyes of the one whose sister needs a kidney and they ask for prayer.  Or the one who has run out of money to feed her family because the wounds of the husband that once was were too great and he inflicted wounds on those his own and left.  Is there enough Hope to go around then?

Hope, while seeded here before, is not often found in this broken field, this struggling place, but is native-born in Heaven and flows continually like the old pump in the back yard where I played as a child.  To get the water, the handle must be pumped over and over, the gurgling increasing so that you thought “Old Faithful” was about to erupt!

For me to walk in that Heaven-Hope, to drink of that cup, I must invite and pump away at prayers and words of faith that cause my spirit to rise up and believe, flowing like that backyard water.  For God is Old Faithful.  His living water flows down from the high places and quenches this earth-thirst, ready to restore all have who live here.  Spirit remembers that there is an enemy who is actively seeking to convince me this Hope is no more.  I stand, heel upon that head, because of the One and savor to reach the hope, arms stretched up in worship!

One day I will step across a very thin line, through a veil, and stand under a tree next to the River of Life in that country of my true citizenship. Thirst forever quenched, where hope swims in the water, and God’s voice a melody on the air, and worship is the air breathed.  I will hear the One tell me about the hopes He folded up and tucked into my spirit while I walked this earthly floor.  But until then, I will do my part to create here the same atmosphere breathed there. Hope resurrected and believing “On earth as it is in Heaven”.

[Now] we have this [hope] as a sure and steadfast anchor of the soul [it cannot slip and it cannot break down under whoever steps out upon it–a hope] that reaches farther and enters into [the very certainty of the Presence] within the veil.  (Hebrews 6:19)

(c) October 2011, Robin Lawrimore

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2 thoughts on “Native Hope

  1. Narola Grady

    Amen, Robin, Amen. My spirit leaps into the river at your words. Waiting to be filled to overflowing again. Thanks for the beautiful invitation to join Him …and you for a much needed swim. The exercise of faith!

    Like

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