from: Into His Arms
I do not realize I’m falling until I am caught by a pair of strong arms. I open my eyes, and look into His. He gently lowers my legs to the ground, and smiles at me. I say in my heart, “I know who You are.” Hearing my thoughts, He nods and says, “Yes, you do.” Such a gentle voice, yet it rumbles through my soul like thunder. As my lips form the word, “Lord,” I make the discovery that yes, it is possible to faint in Heaven.
I feel someone’s hand on my shoulder, and His voice saying, “Child.” My eyes open, and stare once again into His. He’s knelt beside me, tilting His face down to look at mine. Slowly, not breaking eye contact, I rise to my knees. I open my mouth to speak, but no sound comes out. So many things I wanted to say to Him, but His beauty has taken the words.
I begin to put my hand out to Him, but I can’t bring myself to actually touch Him. I finally find my voice. “I’m not dreaming, am I.” It’s more a statement than a question.
As He shakes His head, He takes my hands and places them on His face. With tears rolling down my cheeks, I explore His face, my fingers pausing at the scars on His forehead, then following the curves of His face down to His bearded chin. “So perfect,” I whisper.
I do not realize I’m falling until I am caught by a pair of strong arms. I open my eyes, and look into His. He gently lowers my legs to the ground, and smiles at me. I say in my heart, “I know who You are.” Hearing my thoughts, He nods and says, “Yes, you do.” Such a gentle voice, yet it rumbles through my soul like thunder. As my lips form the word, “Lord,” I make the discovery that yes, it is possible to faint in Heaven.
I feel someone’s hand on my shoulder, and His voice saying, “Child.” My eyes open, and stare once again into His. He’s knelt beside me, tilting His face down to look at mine. Slowly, not breaking eye contact, I rise to my knees. I open my mouth to speak, but no sound comes out. So many things I wanted to say to Him, but His beauty has taken the words.
I begin to put my hand out to Him, but I can’t bring myself to actually touch Him. I finally find my voice. “I’m not dreaming, am I.” It’s more a statement than a question.
As He shakes His head, He takes my hands and places them on His face. With tears rolling down my cheeks, I explore His face, my fingers pausing at the scars on His forehead, then following the curves of His face down to His bearded chin. “So perfect,” I whisper.