As I sit at the kitchen table of another temporary residence with little more than befuddlement on my mind, an old friend of a thought drops in for a visit. It prods me onward like a lantern with broken glass, illuminating with disregard to my personal comfort. And despite the resulting pain or the chunks cut from my life, I know I must follow the guide of its flame. Not because of some form of coercion or manipulation or obligation, but because of a rooted faith in Who is holding the lantern.
His call doesn't guarantee comfort. Or safety. Or food, or clothing, or any of the "needs" we trade sandcastles of time for in a fragile attempt to satisfy them. Having this expectation is an attempt to make us the focus of what is never about us. So often, it is not until we are stripped to a shivering soul clinging to the fragments of our faith that we realize this.
And yet, sometimes we almost need to be thrown into that barren land to realize our part in the call, where, broken of so many of our distractions, we can see that the lantern is not a fixture above a cozy coffee shop chair. No, it was made to light a journey. Its very existence demands that steps be taken. Of course, we could try to hang the lantern and settle into a sedentary spirituality, but the Lantern Holder rebukes such idleness.
We are called to go. To serve. To share. To love. To make Him our life.
He equips us with all we need to live out His call. We may have to give up our comfort, our safety, our "needs" as we see them. But what you gain in the trade--a life in, with, and for Him--outweighs all costs.
Will you go?
1 Peter 4:10
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