I have a Father. My friend Jack introduced Him to me. I had known and trusted His Son for a while. I went dancing with His Spirit regularly. They made a way for me to meet my Father, but Jack was the one who told me I could crawl up there and snuggle. Daddy, give Jack a hug for me.
Aunt Bea paved the way. She told me it was time to stop looking for a teacher. But she did not say what followed forsaking "a teacher."
Then I met Jack and had my answer. All riders leave the train here. Last station stop. Home. Father. Rest. Done. No need to look any further.
You need a Father. With Father is Shalom. Everything needed is here, though there is not much here. The desert wind strips away the decoration, any facade that might be left. The utter cold of night fractures everything that can not gain access to the private family quarters in the back of the tent. Where there is warmth that is and was and ever shall be. There is one resting place deep in my Fathers bosom...and there is plenty of room.
Father, thank you that I need empty hands and shoeless, clean feet to make the toddler climb up into your lap. It is so good to be home.
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