Mounded grey clouds blew in, and flurries of snow fell and dusted this scene soon after I took this photo. The horses nibbled through early morning layers of cold, and as I watched the flakes swirl toward the ground, my soul stirred with that indescribable something. That longing for another place. That hint of what I’ve never quite had but have been watching for, brought on by the tantalizing glimpse, the something I was born desiring:
… that something which you were born desiring, and which, beneath the flux of other desires and in all the momentary silences between the louder passions, night and day, year by year, from childhood to old age, you are looking for, watching for, listening for? You have never had it. All the things that have ever deeply possessed your soul have been but hints of it — tantalizing glimpses, promises never quite fulfilled, echoes that died away just as they caught your ear. But if it should really become manifest — if there ever came an echo that did not die away but swelled into the sound itself — you would know it. Beyond all possibility of doubt you would say “Here at last is the thing I was made for.” (C.S. Lewis, The Problem of Pain)
The indescribable sigh for … something.
I’m thankful God gave C.S. Lewis words to describe my longing, awakened by the Holy Spirit on that quiet, snow-dusted morning — my yearning that all the things that have ever deeply possessed my soul have been hints of — my longing for the Place for which I was made.
The Place for which I was made, for which my soul longs, is heaven.
And the Person my searching heart desires is Jesus.
For on that day to come, when I see Him face to face (and you do, too), all echos will swell into the sound itself. Beyond all possibility of doubt we will say “Here at last is the thing we were made for!”