You walk along the shore of my life and stand before me, whispering, Come, Follow Me.
I hesitate for only a moment before moving toward you, eager for the adventure to which you invite me. There is fear beating in my heart, but I choose you nonetheless. Even before your invitation, I knew you; I knew your promises. Even though I knew you not.
Because you knew me and your voice whispered long before I was born into this world. I recognize it in my heart.
Your voice whispers to me, still.
I meet you here on this shore again. And again, and again, and again. Because too often I lose my way. I lose sight of you in the world, harried and hurried and caught up in chaos and daily tasks.
But you bid me, Come. Each morning you bid me, Come. You bid me, Be still.
And so I do.
Some days, you stand on the shore of my life early in the morning, as I wake and then again in the middle of the morning and then again at lunchtime and then again in the afternoon, with the sun shining brightly in my eyes almost blinding me to your presence. But your whisper reaches me and bids me, Come.
If I am going to live out my God-given dream, the vision you planted in my heart long before I came into being, if I am going to do the good works and write the good words that you prepared for me long before I knew you, I must come to this shore often.
Moment by moment, I must come back to this shore and find you.
And when I forget?
You seem to find me where I am along the path. You find me and you hold out your hand and you invite me back to the adventure of a dream I know only in you.
(This post is part of Kate Motaung’s Five-minute Friday at Heading Home. She gives us a word and we write for five minutes. This week’s word: Follow)