Springtime Yearning

Yearning. Reaching. Searching.

As the cold earth of early spring seeks the sun, desperate to be warmed.

As the tips of every twig and branch swell to bursting, needing the air, straining to be released into bloom.

As the birdsong – sweet, hopeful, unable to contain the depth of love and longing in their hearts.

As the desolate lawns and fields, clothed in drab and dull, anxious for the garments of vibrant array soon to be woven.

As the stream, racing toward the sea.

As the road, ever in pursuit of home.

I long to be holy.

To be like Jesus.

To love as He loves.

His passions, my desire.

His praise, my delight.

His glory, the lifting high of His name and gospel, the all-consuming love of my life.

Oh, how I long to be pure.

And He will make me so, by His blood, by His Word, in His time.

I will wait in the shadows, for the sun will break through.

I will grow in the dark, until He brings me to light.

I will praise, declaring the goodness I will yet see proved.

I will dance in His beauty, as I wait to be remade.

I will chase His heart.

I will run toward home.

Find me, Jesus.