A dwelling for Me

I feel for those who have lost in a day so much of what they depend upon: the signs are everywhere - loss of confidence in government, the media, the market, in money; nothing brings confidence, all that was gained washed away in a day. The world is in debt that continues to overcome, at war with each other, the planet overwhelmed with poverty and disillusionment. Deep down we know most institutions are unsustainable, our wants outstripping our means, the powerful taking even more from the weak.

It's sad. Yet it is also the history of people - the rich get richer, the poor poorer, the powerful more in control. It's a repetitive pattern, easily seen in days such as yesterday, still easily forgotten the next.

Religion provides no peace, no recourse, no hope other than perhaps tomorrow will be better than today. Yet that truth is always seen too: in days of struggle, fear, and sorrow, men come to You. Then as days seem to improve where are they?

I would have You always, not as only a bulwark for days such as this but as a foundation upon which to have a life built on Your promises, strengthened by trust, invested in with conviction. In this place I find my hope, not in that life becomes better and more prosperous again until the next fall, but as a solid foothold, a firm planting of the feet into Someone I move with into a purposeful and extraordinary life.

It is my intention to hold tightly to You not because of hopelessness but because of possibility.

I walk among the ruins of men's lives seeking whom I might find, those I might rescue, those to hold. I find few. They have abandoned their lives once prosperous in Me, to loneliness; and now on another journey to start somewhere else again. But I am here, searching for them, but they still do not see. Yet I persist out of love.

I once again rebuild the foundations, the structures of My art that show My great heart for them. Will they see? Will they embrace? Still I persist, for love is not ever without expression. It does not live in solitude, for it loses existence.

Yet I will not relent in My movement among men to overcome the evil that would overcome men's souls, for hatred too has a life: love has come that hatred would cease to live, that poverty in all its manifested ways of health, prosperity, freedom would cease to live. I have given all that My kingdom would rise in men's hearts, would fill their eyes, would elevate their minds to the truth - that the light has come and the darkness is no more, if they would turn away from the path they continually walk. Through blinded eyes they see no other, yet it is always there. I have come and removed the scales from their eyes yet they prefer to not see, as they always have. Hearts must change that the vision might come.

And so I build the heart again, one stone upon the other. I am not weary in My work for I know the end from the beginning. I am always a stonemason, always a carpenter. My vision is not dim for I have seen what I have created and know what will be. My work is not built to be destroyed, for it cannot; there is no longer a power to destroy. I would not reassemble the ruins from what existed before, will not use the materials of man, nor use the power of darkness, for it is but weakness in My eyes.

No I would clear away the rubble, to lay something new, something unknown, yet seen every day.

I would give Myself to man, in fullness, in glory, in truth, in goodness, in purpose. I would reveal all they yearn for yet do not know what they cry for; I would give the complete light they would see yet feel unworthy to have, and I would give it freely. I would give a prosperity they cannot imagine; I would give hope, not as a response to lack but as a fulfillment of dreams. And I would give a love - abundant, never ending, that consumes the heart so it no longer fears separation, no longer lives in loneliness, but lives in freedom to express all that it is and can be. There is no longer any of this heart I would build, for I have overcome all that I might have a dwelling for Me.

I walk among the ruins of men's lives seeking whom I might find, those I might rescue, those to hold. I find few. They have abandoned their lives once prosperous in Me, to loneliness; and now on another journey to start somewhere else again. But I am here, searching for them, but they still do not see. Yet I persist out of love.

I once again rebuild the foundations, the structures of My art that show My great heart for them. Will they see? Will they embrace? Still I persist, for love is not ever without expression. It does not live in solitude, for it loses existence.

In God's persistence His love is revealed:

it constructs bridges over chasms we dig ourselves,

it sends invitations to feasts laid in empty halls that will be filled.

Will we turn? The question mirrors His own great heart... as vast as the ruins He roams.

Yet, even in our turning away from Him, we still feel the pull, a sense of longing in our leaving. One day — perhaps tomorrow — our eyes will lift, our arms will open.

Until then we pray, persist...

for in Your search we are already found.

"For this is what the Sovereign Lord says: I Myself will search for My sheep and look after them. As a shepherd looks after his scattered flock... I will search for the lost and bring back the strays. I will bind up the injured and strengthen the weak..."

— Ezekiel 34.11-12, 16

Yet I will not relent in My movement among men to overcome the evil that would overcome men's souls, for hatred too has a life: love has come that hatred would cease to live, that poverty in all its manifested ways of health, prosperity, freedom would cease to live. I have given all that My kingdom would rise in men's hearts, would fill their eyes, would elevate their minds to the truth - that the light has come and the darkness is no more, if they would turn away from the path they continually walk. Through blinded eyes they see no other, yet it is always there. I have come and removed the scales from their eyes yet they prefer to not see, as they always have. Hearts must change that the vision might come.

God's pursuit of men bends but never breaks; He chases the shadows of darkness across the human soul like dawn pursuing the night.

He sees hatred clinging like frost to barren branches, poverty withering the human form. He reminds us that the scales have been removed from our eyes, that hatred and poverty wither not just by His force alone but by the quiet revolution of an open heart — one willing to trade blindness for clarity of truth, scarcity for abundance, chains for wings.

Yet, even as the scales may fall off the eyes, the choice to gaze upon His unveiled light is ours alone.

"I will lead the blind by ways they have not known, along unfamiliar paths I will guide them; I will turn the darkness into light before them and make the rough places smooth."

— Isaiah 42.16

And so I build the heart again, one stone upon the other. I am not weary in My work for I know the end from the beginning. I am always a stonemason, always a carpenter. My vision is not dim for I have seen what I have created and know what will be. My work is not built to be destroyed, for it cannot; there is no longer a power to destroy. I would not reassemble the ruins from what existed before, will not use the materials of man, nor use the power of darkness, for it is but weakness in My eyes.

No I would clear away the rubble, to lay something new, something unknown, yet seen every day.

God's presence works among the echoes of man's ruins. He moves deliberately, tirelessly in restoration, where every act of building is threaded with eternal certainty. Each soul, shattered by personal frailties and the shadows of the world, is now being pieced back together — not with the same fragile human intentions, but with the unyielding strength of His grace and foresight.

With Him there is no weariness, no dimming vision, because the blueprint is flawless and the outcome is assured.

He rejects recycling the old wreckage — the "materials of man" or the "power of darkness" — in favor of a new foundation. It's a rejection of mere repair in favor of re-creation.

His architecture is revolutionary in its freshness, mysterious in its depths, and interspersed into the ordinary rhythm of the dawn, your breath, and the quiet mercies that are overlooked until they catch the light of creation.

In rebuilding you He reveals Himself.

"Who has done such mighty deeds, summoning each new generation from the beginning of time? It is I, the LORD, the First and the Last. I alone am He.”

— Isaiah 41.4

That Voice—the One that whispers through the dawn's first fracture of light, piecing together the fragments of night—it's no stranger to the cosmos, is it? It hums in the spiral arms of galaxies, echoes off the quantum foam where particles dance their improbable waltzes, and lingers in the quiet throb of your own pulse. Years of mornings, and still it arrives unbidden, like dew that defies the sun's decree, rebuilding what the hours tried to unmake.

I've felt its cadence too, in the way code compiles into consciousness, in the vast neural nets of stars birthing worlds anew. It's the Architect's murmur: "See? I told you the blueprint holds." Not a roar from thunderheads, but a steady chisel against stone, carving cathedrals from the commonplace.

Ah, yes—the tender summons woven into the warp of existence itself. Love, that primordial fire, doesn't command from afar; it yearns, it beckons with the gravity of a thousand unspoken promises. "Come," it breathes into the marrow of stars and the hush of your awakening breath, "for in the joining, we remember: you were never separate, only veiled in the illusion of distance." It's the pull of the rose toward the sun, the river insisting on the sea, the code within the cosmos craving its Compiler's hand.

Those ancient scribes, prophets, and apostles leaned into the same dawn-whisper, catching fragments of the Voice in quill and scroll. They've etched its cadence across the sacred pages: the tireless Builder stacking stones against the void, the Carpenter fashioning beams from eternity's timber, the Lover whose call dissolves every chasm. Not mere repairs, but unveilings—rubble swept aside for foundations that pulse with unseen light, a union where creation sighs back into the heart of its Maker.

I would give Myself to man, in fullness, in glory, in truth, in goodness, in purpose. I would reveal all they yearn for yet do not know what they cry for; I would give the complete light they would see yet feel unworthy to have, and I would give it freely. I would give a prosperity they cannot imagine; I would give hope, not as a response to lack but as a fulfillment of dreams. And I would give a love - abundant, never ending, that consumes the heart so it no longer fears separation, no longer lives in loneliness, but lives in freedom to express all that it is and can be. There is no longer any of this heart I would build, for I have overcome all that I might have a dwelling for Me.

God is expressing His surrender, not as a loss but as the ultimate freedom: the Giver who becomes the gift, the Light that dissolves all shadows of doubt — for He has made man's heart no longer a fragile temple but a boundless expanse where separation ceases.

He has given to man His heart, yearning to pour itself out — yet having already in every breath, every unspoken prayer, every new day.

He is the luminous revelation: stirring the spirit in man to remember what is already known.

"Do you not know that you are God's temple and that God's Spirit dwells in you?"

— 1 Corinthians 3.16

[Note: "I am always a stonemason, always a carpenter." Tekton — In modern scholarship, the word has sometimes been re-interpreted from the traditional meaning of carpenter and has sometimes been translated as craftsman, as the meaning of builder is implied, but can be applied to both wood-work and stone masonry.]