I have been thinking about wedding dresses of late. Last year I had been given a framed picture of a girl in overalls standing before a mirror with a wedding dress. My friend who gave it to me wanted me to think about what I will one day wear before the King. In an odd moment this past week I was looking through old videos of historic weddings which captivated the world’s attention. My eyes focused upon the trains of these elegant gowns and I began to wonder about, “and the train of his robe filled the temple”.
What if our viewpoint of what a train looks like is not the same as heaven’s? In curiosity I looked up the word train and one of the first things to come up was, “teach (a person) a particular skill or type of behavior through practice and instruction over a period of time.” And of course there is the obvious understanding too that a train carries lots of cars on the strength of the engine pulling it.
What if Christ’s train is us? Meaning those he trained to look like him, to love like him, to act in mercy like him? I look again at the train of many wedding dresses and their design is to bless the groom in the beauty of his bride. I think too about, “there before me was a great multitude that no one could count, from every nation, tribe, people and language, standing before the throne and before the Lamb. They were wearing white robes…”
Every wedding dress I have ever seen was white. Imagine each of us standing in the temple wearing our white robes as his bride? Can you see it? Can you see yourself in His train?
*Isaiah 6:1, Rev 7:9
I was in the service with a picture in my hand and wanting privacy I sat in the very back row. Getting lost in worship I began to pray with my tears, thinking about my family. I missed them not just in the natural but the supernatural. Some of them say they believe and others openly profess there is nothing more than an energy released into the soil to live again as grass or a tree. I could see each of their faces in my mind. I ached for them to know the reality of truth and what it meant to have hope in Jesus Christ.
In time I put my picture back in my journal and tried to engage in my surroundings. Seeing a young man I knew come in, I felt ache for my own son. I tried to listen to what was being shared but it felt so distant from me, from my family, from my experiences. Reaching for my bible I held it tight. Throughout the gospels I remembered Jesus’ walk to meet people. Sometimes it was inside church but often it was outside the walls of church. He loved on them where they were at; in their homes, in their lives, in their desperation for help and healing.
Afterwards I asked the young man what he thought. He openly shared how bored he was. I understood his thinking. My son would not have found this environment engrossing either. I looked around at the people I loved, sensing they wanted everyone to join their celebration. My heart did not feel the celebration and I chose to continue my prayers in private. I asked the Lord for remembrance how to walk like Him; to love those who were inside, but especially to love those outside. Thinking about these young men, I knew I would feel like celebrating one day.
I kept thinking about him, wondering what he might be thinking about me in this moment. If I closed my eyes would I feel him brush the hair aside on my forehead? Would I hear his heart beat for me if I leaned in close to lay upon his chest? I wondered if I were to open his chest and look at his heart would I see myself as the seal placed there by my love? Would I go faint with love in his presence? Breathing in deep I longed to smell the fragrance of his presence.
Laying down my pen upon the pages of my journal I wait for the Lord, my soul waits, and in His word I do hope.
Just before a seemingly long dark night…
Among the rocks and grass was a dispersion of feathers precious to me. A dove had been taken down. My heart hurt at this seemingly random act of nature. I gathered some of these feathers while giving my thoughts to life itself.
Weeks passed and I kept a watch upon our property, looking out the window daily, hoping to hear or see the couples of doves; none came. In the absence of the doves, life itself felt heavy. I found myself listless, wondering what would come next in a barrage of dismal events.
A cool breeze blew in the face of an approaching summer and I opened the office window. Leaning back in my chair I finally began wanting to write once more. I could hear cooing nearby, it sounded like something from a memory. A dog began barking in the street causing me to look up from my keyboard. Thinking the neighbor’s pet had gotten out I decided to go try to corral it.
Opening my door, two doves flew out from where they had been sitting upon the light we turn on in the night…