Feelin' Hurt?

Psalm 91:4

He will cover you with his feathers. Under his wings you will take refuge. His faithfulness is a shield and a wall.

God is likened to a bird. We can nestle underneath his protection, as it were, away from the harsh realities of life.

His feathers stretch out over our bodies, and inside we find joy peace satisfaction comfort. On the outside, the world still turns about with its myriad concerns, its lesser wants, its unlavishing spectacles. The sirens might even be right outside the wings, the sound waves desperately trying to swift their way through the feathers, but inside, no sound of the outer darkness. No dripping dampness from the fangs of those who seek to devour, no constant nagging of the lower frequencies, the ones still complaining about yesterday's yesterday.

just .... shhh...

But what I see are the wings of a father, stretched overhead, complete and encompassing, in their totality creating a new world for me to live in. But while they are beautiful, they're scarred too. His wounds took the blows that I deserved, his wings sheltered me because I was a target for death and pain. The wings were slashed, his side stabbed, his feet and hands pierced. By these stripes I'm healed. And inside his wounds I find my rest.

What things have I been sheltered from that if I only saw would make me recoil in repulsive horror? What have his hands had to push away that would have overtaken me in a moments time? What sounds and shreaks and insults and offenses fell upon the ears of my savior as he stole me away and placed his hands over my head? How did it smell when the flesh of a thousand burned, and the stench of death filled his nostrils as he rescued me out of the land where sin and the prince of the air rule with their tyranny?

What a savior have I in Jesus. What a friend indeed, who seeing me in that place, with noose round my neck, and bat in hand, with my hands ready to strike down the innocent, saw not what was, but what ought to be.

Madness, truly, is to see what is and not what ought to be.

Hide me in thy wings my father, steal me away and bind my wounds. Strengthen my legs and give me thine eyes, for from whence I came, I must return.

With gas mask in hand, I will take those that you choose and resuscitate them as well as I may. Protect me father, and if ever I become weary of this work, the toil of rescue, remind me of your promise to hide me in your wings, and fly swiftly to take me in deeper, closer to your heart to rest in you forever.