Every Sunday morning for the past 38 years I have had this anticipation, this flame of fire that never grows cold. It causes me to rise early to go and meet the One who made me. The Psalms, the language of the heart, states it plainly.
O send out Your light and Your truth, let them lead me;
Let them bring me to Your holy hill
And to Your dwelling places.
Then I will go to the altar of God,
To God my exceeding joy;
And upon the lyre I shall praise You, O God, my God.
Some look at the swamp, smell the swamp, and try to climb away from the swamp in vain. Others see the light, make their way over to the light, and begin to climb that holy hill.
God, I pray this day You would send out Your light and Your truth to lead and guide us back to You.