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On the Verge of Heaven

There is a part of me that is incomplete. I can feel it within me. Somehow I keep coming back to it through self-evaluation. That inner search where life takes me along by the hand and makes me stop just a moment, close my eyes, and just be. Just live, just breathe, just experience the awareness of my existence and the presence of my spirit. Playfully, I try to discover the place where the spiritual realm meets the physical. Try to trace my finger along the line, the chasm.

I can almost feel it within myself, almost touch it. But then, the wall. Always, there is this blockade. Where all my hopes meet reality. I want to be more, to feel more. There are things deeper and more real than I know. I want to experience them. Live them.

There is this thing called love, and at its strongest, at the point of rugged perfection, it is grippingly beautiful, powerful: it covers everything. I want to know this for myself, for my soul to get swept away in the depth. I want to stand in the wake of love. I want to live in the depths of wholeness. Plunge in, throw everything else away. Dive in, unhindered.

I know there is so much I am missing. So much beyond the edge of the dock. I stand, feet moments away from the edge. Toes tingling just to push, fly, sink, dance. Into the waters. Into the pinnacle of sanctification.

But each time I try to shove off, that wall jumps out at me, slamming into my body. I just can’t get passed it. I long for the waters. Love, heaven, perfection—they are so real. Why can’t I taste the salty sweetness on my tongue, feel the cool caress of the waves in my hair, sweeping me, guiding me through the current? And I’m still here, on the dock. What I would give to evade the push-back.

But I have to wait. So I sit here on the edge, my fingers tracing the lines in the wooden planks of the dock. Bits of sand stick to my fingertips; they are moist from the mist in the wind. I ache to be emerged in the waters and carried away in the current. But right now, all I feel are the drops of ocean-water on the pads of my fingers. This is all I have of heaven, for which I wait. I know that beauty emerges from sacrifice. Life is born from surrender.

Yet when my heart is heavy, I look heavenward and whisper my prayer: God, even when the ache is consuming, let me never settle for anything less than wholehearted abandon. Help me in the waiting. And when you call, help me leave it all behind. Push me in. I will fall into the waves. I will finally find the deep, and the longings of today will slip away. One day, I will meet you in paradise. 

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