My wandering spirit

The lamp is burning, the table prepared,
For the wayfaring son's coming home.
O holy Father, come dwell in this place,
Or my wandering spirit will roam. - AD, Wandering Spirit

 What a remarkable God I serve. Rather than relegate me to the corner of his house, of which I do not even deserve to occupy, he burns the lamp, sets the table, and welcomes me home. My traveling in this world will be over at some point and I pray that I will have served him well. When I finally know as I am known and see God the way he wishes me to I will find the finest food and a most comfortable light awaiting me. Yet what of my wondering spirit now? What does he offer to me as I repent and make my way back home over, and over, and over, and over again.

 Nothing less than the same lamp, the same food. The house that welcomes me to even now is but a small glimmer of a foretaste of where I will live with him forever. Why does he set the table so carefully and feed me again? Why doesn't he turn his back and have me rap at the door begging for my re-entry until my hand is bruised and bloody after one of my countless times of offending him and worshiping strangers? There is one reason that I find. His love. I have never seen a love like this, nor will I ever offer one that even holds a sliver of a candle to his.

 I pray, he answers. I hold out my hand, sometimes with my head turned looking into someone else's eyes, he grabs it. He never ceases in his desire for me even in the face of my desire for another. 

 Indeed, his holiness is preserving this wandering spirit from utter ruin. Dad, you know I roam, help me to never lose sight of the burning lamp of your divine presence.  

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