Thy Palace-Porch

I gazed at the sun through a tree tonight. I always want to gaze at the sun, but I told myself that maybe it wouldn't hurt through a tree.

Leaves scattered light into a circular haze like lights through squinted eyes, like lamp light through lace. And as the sun lowered through the leaves, the light crescendoed crescent-shape, and I saw my Lord's wounded side. The same flap of skin Thomas lifted with his human finger--to peer into the house of heavens. That was the gash in the tree. The water and blood, all the light in the world gushing till gone.

And his outstretched arms beckoned to me and I wanted to run-- oh! I wanted to run away from this world and into that light, to bathe in that fount whence all my being floweth. I can't describe it to you, but there was something in the way I struck out on my walk, determined to leave everything behind me, the way I was determined to walk toward the sun, to stay in reach of its warmth-- so that when the swift setting came, a panic rose within me and I cried out "not yet!" and felt deep down that the sun was where I had set out to go.

And now, back in my room, I wonder... what if I'd really done it? What if I'd really dropped everything to run towards that sun? Would I have reached the doorstep of eternity just as darkness was gathering? And, would you have met me, breathless and dazed, on your porch, embraced me, and called me your own? I need that tonight, Lord. I need a hug, and to sit on your porch with you a spell before going out into this world again. I know you can't draw me inside your house just yet-- I'm not asking that-- now is porch sitting time for me, now I have to be in between... but just sitting near that door with you is all the goodness my heart needs. Oh, let me "walk the loud world's busy way, yet in thy palace-porch sit all the day" (G. MacDonald).