it would be easier, i tell myself, if i could see your face. if i could really see it, without these cobwebs of atmosphere that keep me shrouded in silence. if i could look through the window of night and instead of stars see your eyes burning back into mine. it would be easier if i could look into your eyes and see the answers to all my questions, the solace of all my doubts, the relief of my unbelief.
it would be easier if i could hear you say my name — my name, the particular one you’ve known me by since before you formed my grandparents at the origin of the world. it would be easier if i could hear you say you love me simply because you love me, without qualifications on my part, without things i have to do to earn it.
it would be easier — oh yes, i think it would be easier if i knew the whys of God’s ways now and didn’t have to wait for an explanation. it would be easier if i understood the sometimes cryptic answers He gives to my prayers without having to send another barrage of disjointed “what on earths?” up to the heavens.
it would be easier.
oh so much easier, i like to think.
He promises us that someday it will be, but today is not that day. this is still a sort of prologue to the main story where the Author will forever unfold the explanations of everything.
for now we see through a glass darkly, but then face to face.
now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen.
for God alone, o my soul, wait in silence, for my hope is from Him.
love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.
so now faith, hope, and love abide, these three; but the greatest of these is love.
now i know in part; then i shall know fully, even as i have been fully known.