Free

i just wrote a reflection on the song but deleted it... I guess the lyrics speak for themselves

Lyrics:

You’re worth
So much to me
But I can’t buy your love
It’s free

You’re purer
Than mountain streams
So I will drink you in
And be cleaned

Jesus Lord
Your mercy flows
And overflows
To me
I will love you
I won’t be quiet
For in you I am so free

The same blood that sanctifies
Is the same blood that justifies

To Know You

This is a song I've written (wrote?) recently, inspired by a talk on how studying and reflecting on truth about God can move us.

Then it hit me and I started feeling a bit emotional that even before I knew zip about God, he knew me so well, and how he died for me before I was even ‘a twinkle’ in anyone’s eye. I was a twinkle in God’s eye. And that makes me want to know him even more!

Lyrics:
I was known to you
In the secret place
In my mother’s womb
I was held in your gaze

To know you is to love you

Faithful and Strong
Loving and True
Jesus my goal is to know you

Faithful and Strong
Loving and True
Jesus my heart is to know you God

Is to know you God

I was held by you
On the day of pain
When you hung on the cross
There you bore all my shame

To know you is to Love you

(chorus)

Hallelujah, Thankyou Jesus

Intermission

A reflection after a busy shift at work.

I had forgotten I was on stage. The lights had obscured all but this brightly lit enclosure,  forces pushing and pulling me into action, the present drama all there was.

Intermission.

I remember. Improv over now, I walk to a chair in the wings, memories of the outside life floating to the surface;  lumpen things chained to corks, breaking the surface of the calming water.

Another.

Who is out there? My eyes have yet to adjust. I remember a conversation, a pain, a feeling. On the stage when that’s all there seemed to be, these ‘wings’ abandoned. It means more to me now than it did then. There was purpose.

Theme. Story.

I feel the presence from beyond the lights, I know the Author is watching. He has called this intermission, I remember that now; I am under his care. About this story, he cares deeply, I remember that too.

I kneel before him, the character he has created for the story, but more, now a friend of the great Author. He has allowed me to know that there is more than the story, shadow is given substance. What kind of writer could do such a thing? Here now: in the puzzlement of the character who has assumed being held up by his own conscious activity. A stab of defiant pride.

But no.

I bow, enjoying the enjoyment I feel as I let him be Author now. That is the answer. A strange connection, between author and character.  Another thought breaks surface. What if he has written himself into the story? I remember.
He is still writing.

What if I forget?

I know I will, soon the heat and the brightness, and the waters once again disturbed, for the story still requires me. He will uphold me. He will not forget, and he will remind me. He will call intermission, once again he will lead me, and I will remember.