Mirrored Reflection

Rippled Reflection

 

I stand at the glass and see the image of reflection it projects. I do not recognize the image set before me.  The shriveled creature with fear and worry shackled to the wrist and ankle.  Eyes swollen in agony, hair matted in shaggy clumps, clothing covered in filth and blood, bruised and broken.  Chains of binding sin and death pull back in an unrelenting torment.  Who is this creature, it surely cannot be me! 

“The pangs of death surrounded me, and the floods of ungodliness made me afraid.  The sorrows of Sheol surrounded me; the snares of death confronted me.”  Psalm 18:4, 5

Am I this broken creature, unrecognizable as a human being?  I touch the reflection to find the image, to feel it’s shriveled skin but cold hard glass is all that greats me.  The chains pull and cut at my skin, muscles scream at the restraints that bind me.  Fear surrounds me.  Worry and anxiety come down like a flood water to engulf me.  Is there no freedom from these binds?  Is there no air to fill these starving lungs.  I cry out in my agony, I cry for help in my distress.

“In my distress I called upon the Lord, and cried out to my God; He heard my voice from His temple, and my cry came before him, even to His ears.”  Psalm 18:6

I fell against the glass, searching the image beyond for anything, any hope of freedom from this tomb.  I beat on the glass, desperate for relief, desperate to be free.  My tears touch the image, my hands press on its hands, trying to feel something except cold hard loneliness.

“The Lord thundered from heaven, and the Most High uttered His voice, hailstones and coals of fire.”  Psalm 18:13 

Crack!  The image shatters before me.  The pieces fall to the floor in a shower.  I huddle back in fear, bewildered by the event before me.  Who shattered the image, who shattered my tormenting companion?  I uncover my face, wipe the dirt from my eyes.  An image stands before me, one different than before.  This image is not me, this I feel sure.  With hands pierced with holes and robe dipped in blood, He stands tall, confident, true!  Eyes clear and wide, He smiles back, an expression foreign and otherworldly to one as me.  I reach to the glass, my fingers searching for understanding.  What before was cold and hard, now feels soft and inviting.  The image in the glass reaches as well, reaches through the glass, fingers on fingers, inviting, welcoming. 

“He sent from above, He took me; He drew me out of many waters.  He delivered me from my strong enemy, from those who hated me, for they were too strong for me.”  Psalm 18:16, 17

 He pulls on my hands, pulls me forward into the glass, into the image of who He is.  The shackles that bind me brake and fall.  The flood that filled my lungs is held back as this person, this image of someone stronger than I, pulls me in.

“He also brought me out into a broad place; He delivered me because he delighted in me.” Psalm 18:19

“I have been crucified with Christ; it is no longer I who live but Christ lives in me; and  the life which I now live in the flesh I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave Himself for me.”  Galatians 2:20   

Within the glass, I am wrapped in a hug of warmth and peace. I am no longer alone, no longer afraid or dead.  Light surrounds me and life fills me.  The image, the reflection is no longer a mirror but a tomb for the death and shackles of sin and fear that once held me.  They cannot pass through the glass, cannot penetrate into the image of the One who now contains me.  I am no longer the reflection in the glass.  I am free from the shackles, barred by the impenetrable barrier that blocks them.

“As far as the east is from the west, so far has He removed our transgressions from us.”  Psalm 103:12

“For You will light my lamp; the Lord My God will enlighten my darkness.”  Psalm 18:28

The Beginning Or The End

On the Way

I guess this is the beginning, if a beginning is possible or an end.  Can anything truly have a beginning or an end?  Only God really knows, he thought us into being before our parents ever met.  He planned out our lives in the darkness of nothingness before the starting line was even drawn.  After we are at our end, our spirit and memory will live on beyond the crossing of the finish line.  We will then wait for the reunion with the Host and all those we have left behind.  We really have no control over the beginning of the story or its end.  Only what we make of the middle of the story, can we have effect over how the path travels and turns.  Decisions are brought before us and we make a choice. 

Choice!  That would be probably the most important aspect of our creation, the fact that God gave us choice.  I ponder on occasion why did God give us such an open book?  Why create a masterpiece that has the choice to let itself be destroyed?  I like to compare it to the character of a robot.  Robots have on choice, no ability to decide on their own.  They can only choose from the parameters their creator has given.  Their creator gives them limited decisions within the guidelines of what they are requested to do.  They cannot object or refuse.  Do not know to question or debate.  They do what is asked and nothing more.   To me that seems like a shallow and very hollow way of existing, if I would have been a robot.  Perhaps that is why we are not robots.  God made us in his image. 

What does that mean, to be in God’s image?  Does it mean that we have two legs like him, two arms and fingers and toes?  That we have eyes, a nose and a mouth?  Are these really the things that define us to be in his image or is it something more, something deeper. 

These are thoughts that run through my head.  Churn and spill out at all hours of the day and night. I seek out the answers and wish for all who will read to seek them with me.  My Savior lives and I seek Him with all that I am.

“For You formed my inward parts; You covered me in my mother’s womb.

I will praise You, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made; Marvelous are Your works, And that my soul knows very well.” Psalms 139: 13, 14