I'm never more aware of Grace than in this week of intense remembering, for it was Easter that was a tether in my wandering years, pulling me back with a longing I could not explain. With senses at the edge of spilling over, my voice trembles even at the reading of Leviticus, I'm acutely aware of the sun's warmth in this unseasonable burst of winter here on Pollywog Creek, and I see the enemy roaming about looking for cracks in our veneer.
As I grieve for the wandering church, I throw no stones, but repent of my own lack of love and pray that you and I will lay aside our personal agendas, leave our ghettos, and fully embrace the pull that tethers us to this irresistible Grace and binds our hearts together in the love of Christ - that we will be conduits of the Grace that heals every wound, repairs every brokenness, redeems lost souls and restores what the enemy has plundered.
And Christ will have the prize for which He died
An inheritance of nations
O Church Arise
