I know this is true of all of us…and for all of us. We all want to hear His Voice. We all want, desperately, to know what He has for us. We know it is personal…that He is personal. It is obvious to us all that, once we meet Him in our hearts, that He can dive deep. Fathom upon searchable fathom. I know it. You know it. We ALL like blind men, know we can see again.
But we won’t. Stubborn have been our adolescent spirits of late. We know that His Word will be like oil in a dry machine, but we won’t read it. We know that prayer will connect us to the Great Star Shooter, the Wonderful World Spinner…but we won’t do it. If we do, we don’t understand. If we do understand, we will not act. If we act, we wont stay consistent. If we remain consistent, we grow in pride. How we ever need You to make intercession for us. Obviously, tuning in is hard. We don’t like things that are hard. We, God help us, won’t tune in. It ain’t gonna happen by itself, we do know that. Tools and antennae lay at our disposal, but we are not willing….
Why won’t we tune in?
I guess we just don’t want to. Imagine that; it’s all right there and we won’t try. Lord, help our brash immobility. Jettison unforgiveness. Away with hard-hearted melodrama. Rescue us from the tyranny of fear. We cut…we sever…we torch…we lay ambush…we destroy the only contact that won’t destroy us. We just refuse, openly and purposely, to walk out into Oneness.
Help us tune in.
I write this as one who took a trip to outer space, like some space station prophet writing to Earth. “You just can’t believe how beautiful it is up here…outside the horizon, skipping through the stars.” Up here, out there…it’s so much easier to tune in. I can hear. I can see. The view is arresting. There’s only so much I can explain to you. You’ve got to try this yourself. But you gotta be a bit reckless, more than a bit dangerous. None of this is yours anyway. You traveling around in a borrowed body. Don’t you want to live it up, make it count? Don’t you want to tune in?
The God Frequency.
Please…tune in. Lost boys and girls who feign to be found. Cell-bound, hell-hole philosophers in search of truth and place, yet despising any who may have found it. Saturated with liquid transgression. It’s not that you don’t know, for some reason, you don’t want to know.
Tune us in.
To the God Frequency.
Dishes catching waves.
Scatter far and wide.
Bring us back, Transmitter.
Fashion our signals
Tuned in and brilliant to Your ear.