Last night, as I was driving to the Friday Night prayer service, my heart spoke the language of Thomas.
Now Thomas (called Didymus), one of the Twelve, was not with the disciples when Jesus came. So the other disciples told him, “We have seen the Lord!” But he said to them, “Unless I see the nail marks in his hands and put my finger where the nails were, and put my hand into his side, I will not believe it.” A week later his disciples were in the house again, and Thomas was with them. Though the doors were locked, Jesus came and stood among them and said, “Peace be with you!” Then he said to Thomas, “Put your finger here; see my hands. Reach out your hand and put it into my side. Stop doubting and believe.”
I told God I wanted to see Him, as in physically view His frame. I have gained repugnance for singing to the air and uplifting an invisible deity. My frame was not made to reach into the unknown and conjure up a feeling. I was made to peer into the eyes of my bridegroom and respond with “holy, holy, holy”. Oh Father, restore your Son to the earth!!!
I will scold myself. My cry is rooted in selfishness and complaint. I should be content with the simple touches of His Holy Spirit. I should be appreciative of those felt convictions and His lavish gift of saving grace. I don’t even deserve those hand-outs. Yet, I still long for the fullness. God took on flesh. Whoa!