When I Saw the Throne

When I finally saw the throne and the One on it, I stared for about a thousand years. There's no telling, really, and I don't care how long it was, only that my soul was full and my heart was light. The awe took many forms. Sometimes I laughed and lifted my hands with joy, sometimes I lay flat on the floor and let his power roll over me in waves. Sometimes, though, he withheld his great power and instead washed me with love like thin water and white foam trickling over my outstretched body on a sandy beach, gently rinsing my former self away, never to be seen again. Sometimes it took the form of a breeze rippling over my skin and blowing wisps of hair out of my face as though I were lying in soft grass on a sunny day. Sometimes I danced and sang before him, and his approval felt better than the roar of a thundering crowd. He took such great delight in my songs. Never judging, always delighting.

I could have basked there for an endless river of eternities, soaking in the glory and fullness of the One on that throne, but I walked down the shining road to see my other loved ones. Unlike that broken place I had journeyed through for those few short years, I had many loved ones here - millions, in fact. And we finally knew what love was. Our hearts were all one and pounding with such passion and adoration that the power generated could create universes - in fact, it might have. I knew the One on the throne was always creating things, because creating, whether with wisdom or hands, brought him such great delight.

I could no longer really remember that former place, but I knew without a doubt that no love there had been like this. Any of its love had been only a shadow of what was to come. Millions of souls, countless heavenly beings, colors heretofore unknown and an endless chorus of languages and voices...all in perfect unity with each other and the King. Oh, the King...he was what held us all together. I could sing about him forever, in an endless number of languages, and never come close to how good he really is. I never knew before that the planets and the stars also had voices, that the whole universe had been quivering with joy before the One on the throne. The worries of the old earth had deafened so many souls, but here we finally had ears. If only I'd known how good he really was when I walked through that shadowy place for those few short years, if only I could have heard the praises the trees and waters and stars were singing each day...I'd have laughed through every storm.

Even those who were never married on earth were married now, and knew the joy of being the most beloved and beautiful Bride...together we felt what it was to be invited into - no, swept up in - that strong, passionate, joyful heart, and the glorious thrill of pleasure when the door was opened to his fierce love and to his never-ending feast. I thought I had been a bride on earth, but I had never been dressed in white until now. Oh the unspeakable joy of heaven standing open! Of its gates not being closed to me! I knew what I had been...I saw, momentarily, the fate I had deserved, and dark hands clutching at my soul...but the instant I had begun to fear, a curtain of blood had streamed down in front of me, and the hands could not penetrate it. Then the curtain had wrapped itself around me, swaddled me like a baby's clothes...and yet its blood did not stain. This was the only blood I had ever seen that made me whiter at its touch, that did not stain my hands with guilt but rather sponged that guilt away until I shone like a star. I saw Christ's blood streaming in the firmament...and yet, rather than leaving me groping helplessly for the drops, jumping up and down like a madman, the drops rained down and met me.


Then, that same red curtain curtain parted to reveal a shining white horse with a rider called Faithful and True. As soon as I saw his eyes...as soon as I saw his eyes I knew that I was pursued with a longing and desire more jealous than the grave and more passionate than my deepest affections. Faithful and True pulled me up and we rode away so that the pit with the clutching hands was no longer in sight. Its arms will forever be too short to overcome the Rider's jealous love. Once I saw his deep, penetrating eyes and his strong shoulders I could think of nothing else. The indescribable joy of being fully known and yet fully loved! Never tinged with a fear of being abandoned, because his very Name was Faithful. What had that shadowy place known of faithful? What had I ever known of faithful?

Yet deep in my heart, even in my darkest moments, I'd always known this must be true. This must be the truth; that shadowy place was the lie. And now that I could see it, now that I could fully know Him as I'd always been fully known, now that I could see and touch his face, I knew without a doubt that I would never see a shadow again. Forever, my vision would be clear. And forever, truth would reign because the deceiver of the nations was finally destroyed.

Some may have said this vision wasn't real, that the ways of the shadowy place were unchanging; but here with the only Unchanging One I finally saw the wolf graze with the lamb, and I saw the lion rest in their company. Here I saw the man feed the ox but never put a burden on its back, except occasionally a small laughing child who loved that now-burdenless beast. The children who had always wondered what a lion's wondrous mane would feel like finally got to touch and stroke it without fear, and the lion nuzzled them like one of its cubs. Both animals and humans had stopped preying on each other...and somehow I'd always known this was how things were supposed to be, that this was right and good.

The One on the throne had grieved over that shadowy place. Oh, how he'd grieved over all the lives that were wasted because they had no food, or had no one to love them. So many had been deceived and given up their birthrights as heirs to creation and the glorious honor of creating. So many others been robbed of their creative breath by disease or hunger. How many of us had given up our mantles as image-bearers and fallen into destruction or apathy. But here I saw those who had been deceived into being men of brutality plowing soil and picking fruit; I saw those who had fearfully destroyed other men laughing and dancing with children; I saw those who had annihilated the old earth tending and delighting in the new one. I saw children who'd died for lack of water splashing around in the everlasting spring and rafting down the crystal river, where anyone could come and drink without cost.

The One on the throne now lived with us and within us; there was no separation. The hand of the Father and the hands of earth, which had been reaching for each other for so long, had not only touched but become one. The desire of every heart was filled, and every chasm was closed. It was the land of no horizon.

The King's eyes surveyed this new earth and sparkled with joy. It was very, very good.



The Spirit and the bride say, "Come!" And let the one who hears say, "Come!" Let the one who is thirsty come; and let the one who wishes take the free gift of the water of life.

Waking the Dead

Everything was black except one white-clothed figure lying on the ground, golden hair flowing from her head.

I wouldn't normally do this, I thought, but I kneeled over her and prayed, my pounding heart the only sound in the blackness. My hand on her shoulder, I begged God to raise her from the dead.

I don't know how long I knelt there in that dream, but I know that I eventually saw the head lift, golden hair finally leaving the floor, her arms shakily propping herself up. Then, finally, like a baby animal of some kind, she rose to her feet.

I woke up and went about my normal college student morning, hitting the snooze button a few times, probably temporarily forgetting the dream, reading my Bible, spreading some cream cheese on a bagel. Then I got a call from a friend I was supposed to have lunch with.

She said she had to cancel because she was on the way to a hospital where her best friend's little sister lay in a coma.

The golden-haired girl had been in a horrible car accident, had been unresponsive for two weeks, and now no one was sure if she'd ever wake up. A 10% chance of waking. And if waking, then probably no walking. Possible paralysis.

10% chance.

A high school girl. Like I had been just a few years ago.

As I assured her that of course I completely understood, and I would be praying for her, my dream rushed back into my consciousness. I saw that girl getting shakily to her feet. I felt the power of the Most High God rush through my feeble hands and permeate that black room.

I felt it permeate this black world.

And, reopening my Bible and reading the stories of how Jesus raised that 12-year-old girl from the dead and healed a woman who had been bleeding for years, and knowing he is still able, I fasted and prayed most of the day for this girl I had never met and probably never will meet. Emotions that I knew were not my own rushed through me; passion poured through my heart that did not come from my mind but from heaven's. I felt a Father's heart for his daughter. I felt an entire community joining with this one college student in Austin, begging for one small life out of billions. Prayers were lifted that were not from our hearts but from His, power came from our words that was not our own power but His.

In my heart, I felt an incredible assurance. I knew with certainty that this girl would rise, that she would even walk. I knew He'd given me that dream for a reason. I treasured this in my heart, just between Jesus and me.

A few days later I got the word.

She woke up.

Weeks later, she walked.

Supported physically and emotionally by people who loved her, she walked out of the hospital.

As miraculous as this was, and how incredible as it was that Father allowed a distant, unrelated person like me to be a small part of it and watch Him do his thing, her wakefulness wasn't the biggest miracle. Her walking wasn't the biggest miracle.

The biggest miracle was what happened in the next few months, what I wasn't there for but what I can imagine: the mood swings, the progress, the letdowns, a family never giving up hope, taking her recovery painfully slow, day-by-day, moment-by-moment. A girl rediscovering every tiny bit of herself.

When Father shows up and does a momentary miracle, we all rejoice. We are in awe, and we wish we had more moments like that. But one second is not the end. One second may spur the beginning of a life change, one second may mark an important milestone, but the most awe-inspiring works of art take the most time. Relationships take a lot of time. People take a lot of time.

Jesus raised Lazarus from the dead in a matter of seconds. What we are not told was what happened afterward. What would you do if you thought your life was over, and suddenly you were awake again and had that precious time back? Though the miracle took seconds, the life that formed afterward was another miracle.

It only takes seconds for Jesus to raise a body.

It only takes seconds for him to salvage a soul.

May we rejoice even more in the hard, beautiful, refining times that follow, than in that one precious moment.