Well done

And the Spirit of the Lord shall rest upon Him,

the Spirit of wisdom and understanding,

the Spirit of counsel and might,

the Spirit of knowledge and the fear of the Lord.

And His delight shall be in the fear of the Lord.  Isaiah 11:2-3

This same Spirit that rested upon Him, the Branch that sprang up from the stump of Jesse, has also been given to us, to me.  To will and to work His good pleasure.  Once again, God underlines that He has withheld from me nothing.  

And yet there is this time thing in which we are trapped.  What is the point of the long awkward and often painful pilgrimage?  Why is there not an insta-button the moment we receive His free gift of forgiveness and His Spirit that bounces us directly out of this broken world?  

I am quite sure that I will not understand until the end of time... and then, perhaps not even then; John O’Hair hinted that perhaps it is a continuous spiral of further up and further in.  We will never be God but the fog will be lifted.

However there are glimpses through the mist- of metaphors woven into the fabric of life that speak truth- the sturdiness of plants having hunkered down during the winter, the removing of dross through the smelting process, the intensity of color applied layer after layer rather than one thin coat.  

But the important thing is, as I stumble along this path of faith, is that He has not slapped me on the back and muttered something about “Be warmed and be fed,” and “See you on the other side,” but He is all in.  

Sort of like my quasi-backpacking trips into the Rincons or the Santa Ritas or wherever with my little brothers when I was young... they pored over the green and white contour maps that sent my head spinning, rolled and rerolled the bags and stoves and bottles and weird-tasting bars into these massive Kelty packs, shook me awake in the still grey dawn and pushed me out of the car, shivering.  They wore the heavy boots and extra jackets, lashed all that stuff over and around themselves with boingy cords and rattled and clanked all the way and my only job was to keep up. Me and my little sneakers. Trot, trot, trot behind them. 
  

He prepared the way wherein we should walk, He showed us how it is done, well, and He is present, with all wisdom and understanding.  

And may my delight be in Him.  Not muttering and grumbling, but with joyous expectation greet each day as a gift, an opportunity to sink more profoundly into His might, to scrape away a bit more slag, and to live one more layer.  Well.