Tuesday, June 30, 2009
I went to draw near. Alone. Walking unknown streets. Face toward the cross rising above trees and old homes. Busy streets, people alone, walking. I’m a stranger here. I don’t want to be seen. I hide behind taking photos and, somehow, I begin to see. Nothing is comparing in beauty to where my heart wants to go. I want to draw near.
I walk up stone stairs to ancient structure doors. I won’t reach out and pull. I’m scared. I hear music bellow from deep within. “Draw near,” my heart whispers. Doors open and I creep in. Muffled voices, chanting grow louder. I ask if I may sit on the back row. “Please do,” the answer with inviting hand outstretched. I slide in as mahogany pew groans. I am a stranger here. Colored glass dances in morning sunlight. I’m lost in the music orchestrating this moment. I am afraid to look and soak in this place. The place my heart wants to draw near. Syncopated words carry on as my heart looks for a place to take rest. Quiet sobs drift from front row. I realize my heart is groaning with those who grieve the loss of a dear one. I am a stranger here. Service ends and the grieving file out. Silence fills into the emptiness. I still sit, a stranger here. Peace envelopes this sanctuary. Candles flicker. My heart is drawing near. It can’t help itself. Long rays of light fill arched windows depicting beloved stories of old. Sheep. Ordinary men. Heavenly messengers. My Saviour. Eyes begin to see the enormous structure of this place. I feel small. Comforted. My heart has drawn near.