Post Tenebras Lux: A Good Friday Meditation

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Alas! and did my Savior bleed And did my Sovereign die? Would He devote that sacred head For such a worm as I?

Was it for crimes that I had done He groaned upon the tree? Amazing pity, grace unknown, And love beyond degree!

This, the darkest day in human history, is the one on which my hope hinges. Brilliantly bright hope in the midst of bleak blackness.

Good Friday. How can it be good? What agony my Savior suffered on that cross, in that garden, at the hands of hatred-filled men––bloody, beaten, despised, mocked, and killed.

For me.

I marvel at the glories of double imputation––my sin and just punishment imputed to Him; His righteousness imputed to my hopelessly bankrupt account.

Christ's death secured for me eternal life. What a grand, incomparable paradox. His triumphant resurrection is the lifeblood that gives me strength to carry on.

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I am ashamed of my sin-induced amnesia. I chase after flitters of light on grey, routined walls––fleeting, unsatisfying shadows. I never lift my weary head to the Source of any and all light. "Christ alone" must be my battlecry as I traverse a world so fraught with lesser lights.

My sin lingers, insidiously aiming at the utmost, and I am helpless to save myself. We all naturally wallow in the dark mire of iniquity. But now, His victory in the cross and resurrection give us the fortitude to fight vice relentlessly and chase after that truest light.

"But he was pierced for our transgressions;     he was crushed for our iniquities; upon him was the chastisement that brought us peace,     and with his wounds we are healed." –Isaiah 53:5

For now, it feels like my flesh, Satan and the world are all triumphing, rejoicing over my prostrate body like bloodthirsty villains. I do not always hold onto Him in this spiritual war. But His is an everlasting grip. All I can do is cling to Calvary and in the power of His resurrection, walk––slowly but steadily––toward the light of a brilliant future:

"According to his great mercy, he has caused us to be born again to a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead, to an inheritance that is imperishable, undefiled, and unfading, kept in heaven for you." –1 Peter 1:3

My flesh deceives me into thinking sin will have the greater payoff. What a lie. Sin leads to death. There is nothing benign about destructive malevolence. Christ suffered the full wrath of God for that sin. How can I do anything now but live for Him alone, before His face alone, all for His glory.

My blessed Redeemer has saved me from the shackles of sin, from the bondage of my flesh. I am in awe of His sovereign saving grace––an inexhaustible grace. But I must never seek to exhaust that grace by my sin. Christ is the champion Warrior, conquering sin and death, and He reigns now and forevermore.

May His name be lifted high as I sojourn and battle on, seeking the greater light and clinging to Him all of my days.

But drops of grief can ne’er repay The debt of love I owe; Here, Lord, I give myself away, ‘Tis all that I can do.

Consider the Stars

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"When I consider Your heavens, the work of Your fingers, The moon and the stars, which You have ordained; What is man that You take thought of him, and the son of man that You care for him?" –Ps. 8:3-4

I saw more stars than I ever had on a late November night in remote Williams, Arizona.

My brothers and I had slipped outside and shivered under a brilliant night sky glowing in 30 degree air. Gripping mugs of hot chocolate, we traced our initials in the frost on the car and exhaled foggy clouds of breath. We talked, laughed, pointed at the sky.

They soon returned inside to our host's home––a solitary glow of warmth in a high desert landscape of near desolation. The conversations drifting from inside resonated with the sweet melodies of Christian fellowship.

I stayed and sat under celestial resplendence, vulnerable and coram Deo––before the face of God. I found the constellation Orion and smiled at its familiar form, one I knew from even the minimal scattering of stars in San Diego suburbia. The longer I spent in the darkness of that night, the more stars came to light. The vast sky was a bright reminder of the glory of His limitlessness. I stared at the stars and pondered.

Here, although I was several hundred miles away from home, I couldn't escape my fears, doubts, heart wounds. These, my Achilles' heel, lingered like a malignant shadow.

While sitting under this breathtaking view, I wrote this prayer––one I continue to echo for 2017.

God, You are altogether worthy of my trust and my praise. Help me to see my own wretchedness––the ways I seek to dethrone You. You are the Lord of the galaxies and here tonight, witnessing the awe-striking splendor of those galaxies, I bow. I confess. I seek Your face, Lord, rather than demanding Your hand. You are righteous and just in all Your judgements. You do all things well for Your glory and through Your grace. I must cling to truth. I am my own worst enemy. Pride claws at my best motives and I scream in my heart toward image-bearers of you. How can I?

The Lord of the universe––asteroids, black holes, fiery Jupiter, distant Neptune and Andromeda––condescended to minuscule, insignificant Earth. Oh, but Earth is magnificently significant in your gloriously perfect plan of redemption. Fallen man reconciled to his Creator, to live in loving communion with and worship to Him for the rest of his days––and all eternity. Stars sing His praises. And one day, in ultimate perfection with all of God's redeemed, so shall we. 

Now Lord, quicken my soul to do Your will.

Stars give me perspective, reminding me of my littleness and God's great magnitude. He is both transcendent and immanent––a mystery more lofty than the knowledge of the universe itself.

"He heals the brokenhearted     and binds up their wounds. He determines the number of the stars;     He gives to all of them their names." –Ps. 147:3-4

How can the One who gives the stars their seemingly immeasurable number be the same Great Healer of wounded human hearts?

Pause and consider the stars. They are but a glimpse into the incomprehensibility of our God's grandeur.

"For from Him and through Him and to Him are all things. To Him be glory forever. Amen" (Rom. 11:36).

Emily Joy: Adoption and Angst

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On a cold December night six years ago, I met a little girl named Emily. She was four.

I remember watching Emily hop around her new room in torn pink Ugg boots, once inside the foster home she called "the Christmas house." She jumped from the bed to the bookshelf to the corner filled with toys. She giggled and beamed.

Emily's euphoric joy was so unexpected, considering the circumstances she had just come from. Neglected and found by the police, wandering the streets at six in the morning. Nonetheless, she was full of elation. My family and I crammed in her room, lying on our stomachs and watching her spin from one object of delight to the next. Just like a small, bubbly fairy with freckles.

When we adopted her several months later, we gave her a new middle name––Joy. Emily Joy.

I didn't feel much joy at first.

When she ran to our dad after work before I did, yelling, "Hey, hey! Guess what I did today, Daddy?"

When she managed to wear plaid, polka dots, and pernicious pink all in one outfit.

When she grappled for attention and manipulated and hit and hurt.

I didn't like it. So I avoided her attempted affection with short remarks and rolled eyes.

Only in the last few years did I see how selfish I was––I was the one who grappled for attention and manipulated and hurt. Slowly but surely, I opened my heart to Emily Joy.

I saw her caring spirit in spite of the loud ways she helped others. I saw genuine love beaming through the face framed by crooked bangs––a face I had irrationally resented. I realized I was not worthy of her love, just as I thought she wasn’t worthy of mine.

Today. Six years later. We talk about meaningful topics and laugh and write stories together. I'm still making up for the wasted years of my teenage angst and pride. All by God's grace.

Adoption is a beautiful picture of our undeserved adoption into the family of God. May His love be on display in our forever sisterhood. I love you, Emily Joy. I'm sorry it took me so long to express it.

You like to tell people, "I've been adopted twice––into the Arend family and into the family of God!"

So now, let's pursue our Heavenly Father together.

"See how great a love the Father has bestowed on us, that we would be called children of God!"

–1 John 3:1

Broken Streets

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Four weeks ago, I walked onto the broken streets of Skid Row with trembling hands.

That day haunts me.

Everywhere I looked in that downtown Los Angeles district, I saw visible, blatant expressions of human degradation. I saw image-bearers of God in the literal gutter.

The people I met still haunt me, with hearts worn so ragged on their sleeves and all earthly belongings pitched under a sidewalk tent. Divine strength guided me to set my face like flint, having diminished personal dread but increased fear for lost souls.

On the corner of 6th and San Pedro, I dialogued––knees on the sidewalk––with 59-year-old Rachel, who toted a Mary Kay hat and plastic grocery bag of good works.

She recited Ephesians 2:8-9 from memory and smiled benevolently. So I took its context, the far-distantly memorized Ephesians 1, and shared its truth with her––a dying woman in need of redemption and forgiveness of sins offered by the richly gracious Savior (Eph. 1:7).

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The gospel was a breath of fresh air in an atmosphere laced so heavily with smog and smoke and cursing cries and seductively rhythmic music. The background soundtrack of cursing and sleazy hip-hop echoed off dirty buildings and through alleys cluttered with trash and people. I collected every weight I witnessed in that spiritually desolate and depraved place.

Three men huddled together and smoked. Yelling resounded. The place smelled like hellfire––a strange concoction of urine, sweat and smoke plumes to go with a medley of sights and to some extent, horrors.

On one stretch of sidewalk, a misstep meant stepping on syringes to my left or a sprawled, passed-out man on his back to my right. I wanted to kneel down, grab the outstretched palm facing the sky and feel for a pulse on his wrist. He barely looked alive. A few steps later, a crouching drunk man gestured, squinting through bloodshot eyes that wandered and glazed over every sight with alcohol-soaked perception. 

My heart fractured time and time again.

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Though secure in Christ's all-sustaining grace and the truth of His atonement, I was shaken to my core.

"I'm too intoxicated to fellowship, man," JJ said to a guy in our group, leaning against a camping chair perched on the sidewalk and smiling the slow smile of the inebriated––a smile that sent my stomach into lurching. In sudden sobriety, he said, "I'm a Christian, but I guess this makes me a hypocrite..." 

“How does a broken man get out of LA?” Darryl asked honestly and hungrily––hungry for hope, like the others wasting away all around us. “I want to believe in Christ. I do. I’m sorry, but some people are just too far gone. How can a man who has only ever done wrong his entire life be saved?”

“That’s the gospel!” I wanted to cry out. "I am also a wretched sinner and unworthy recipient of His grace. But praise be to God for His redeeming love!"

Instead, I stood in stunned silence as I beheld the visceral, exposed insides of a tortured conscience.

Darryl walked away with tear-filled eyes.

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It's been weeks since I visited Skid Row but I'm sure not much has changed. People are still there "having no hope and without God in the world" (Eph. 2:12). 

A few days later, I shared the solemn burden of my heart with my entire university in a chapel interview. I looked out on a sea of souls and said, "There is absolutely nothing preventing us from being in the exact same position they're in––except the restraining mercy of God."

Sin cannot be euphemized. Nor should it. Apart from Christ, I’d wallow in the same depths. But God.

"There, but for the grace of God, go I."—John Bradford

That Sunday, my heart was troubled. I transitioned so jerkily from the sweat-stained Saturday streets of Skid Row to the spotless Sunday-morning pews of a well-respected church. Row after row of collared jackets. Well-respected and beautiful people. Among all the bright faces, I saw Andre, Byron, Rachel, Darryl, Robert, JJ, and Michael.

These people are still out there somewhere. They're hurtling down a hell-bound track, unless the sovereign God of all men resurrects and redirects their souls into submission to His Word.

"How then will they call on him in whom they have not believed? And how are they to believe in him of whom they have never heard? And how are they to hear without someone preaching? And how are they to preach unless they are sent? As it is written, 'How beautiful are the feet of those who preach the good news!'" ––Romans 10:14–15

Their names and faces and voices are stuck in my head like a recycled radio tune, beckoning me to come back.

I beg the Lord to take me back––to take me anywhere where rebels may be redeemed through the proclamation of the Word. There is too much of an urgency to wait around.

I want to stride into our fallen world with an unshakable confidence and living hope, despite a sea of weakness and propensity to fear. May "His strength is enough" be my battle cry, as the Word of truth flows through my veins and thoughts and the gospel flavors every word spoken.

We should not flinch from looking at the reality of sin-saturation, seeing with wide-eyed devastation the wreck of a world we live in. But we must take our eyes from these dismal images and pray they drive our hearts to Christ.

There is no sweeter life's mission––to trek broken streets and reach lost souls for Him.

Dear Mathilda: Letter to a Grieving Friend

Dear Mathilda,

When you told me your mom recently died the air in my lungs evaporated.

We were standing in a lengthy line at the bookstore when that sad, haunted smile crossed your face. We had barely known each other a week. I no longer cared about my overpriced textbook––I wanted to leap across the divide of unfamiliarity between us and embrace you.

I wanted to tell you I know what it's like to scream with the Psalmist: "Why are you cast down, oh my soul?" (Ps. 42:5) Your heart feels such indescribable agony––your throat physically closes off and refuses to inhale oxygen.

Instead of verbalizing my lament, I stammered a shaky "I'm sorry."

I'm sorry for saying "sorry"––a sad, scrunched-up apology for my inability to cure you of your suffering. A few weeks later, you stunned me. You said I remind you of her––your mother.

I wish I had known Tammy.

Known her when all she loved was being under the trees near your forest home as she cared for outcasts. "The mountains and trees that call you were her home," you said.

That was before the devastation of cancer.

I haven't experienced the death of someone so close to me, but I do know something of the pain of loss. At times, it is excruciating when you miss someone that much––your spirit hardly stirs because it is so crushed.

These are the times when you cling to the promises of God with clenched, trembling hands, knowing He is "near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit" (Ps. 34:18).

On Earth, we march to the beat of weary hearts and fatigued steps. But we will one day join all the saints in eternal, celestial song.

"High King of Heaven, my victory won, May I reach Heaven’s joys, O bright Heaven’s sun! Heart of my own heart, whatever befall, Still be my vision, O ruler of all."

I urged you to meditate on the victory of Christ that one Saturday night when we ate Little Caesar's pizza under smog-layered stars.

What a joy––that we have a Great High Priest who is able to sympathize with our weakness. "He is able to save to the uttermost those who draw near to God through him, since He always lives to make intercession for them" (Heb. 7:25).

In our pain, we know He is intimately acquainted with our griefs, the sorrows over which He has triumphed.

"I would have despaired unless I had believed that I would see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living" (Ps. 27:13).

There will be a day when we will join Tammy in ceaseless praise, singing a new song to the Lamb––our Redeemer, our Comforter, our Lord.

I love you. But He loves you infinitely more.

–Carissa

And now she gazes at her Savior. (1959-2016)

Gazing Toward the Future

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In quiet moments, my mind revisits cherished memories – like a late-summer swim in the dimming waves of a San Diego sunset with a kindred sister in Christ.

Gliding through the water, we faced the distant horizon of the sea and the horizon of our futures. Sunset orange, crimson and purple melted down to light up the ocean around us.

Brilliant colors in the sky faded into dark blue, and our voices sailed over the waves in soul-nourishing conversation. We became misty-eyed as we pondered the mercy of God in light of our insufficiency.

We are prone to nautical wandering – we truly don't know how to navigate the ocean-like immensity of the future.

Time is an ever-fluctuating and vast sea with an unreachable horizon of tomorrow. Still, we feign knowledge of the unknown future because of our natural craving for control. Desperately and hungrily we reach, longing for a sure stability of safety.

We might as well try to conquer the ocean. Time is unforgiving – she has no concept of care for individuals caught in her flooding tides.

But the Eternal One alone commands the sea of time. 

“Who then is this, that even the wind and the sea obey him?” –Mark 4:41

He is all-merciful and all-powerful, even over the inevitable and oft ominous currents of time. I aspire to be a woman always basking in humbled wonder at the great magnitude of His providential and sustaining mercy – even when the future looks like a murky expanse.

Looking back, I remember the taste of rippling, moonlight-drenched waves, the depths of His faithfulness, and the arrival of hope. I see a season of euphoric joy sometimes eclipsed by shadowy pain and sorrow.

Looking forward, I gaze toward the horizon of the future. I do not know what it holds, although I seem to glimpse fragments–a journey to India, a not-so-far-away college graduation, and post-education ventures into the exhilarating unknown.

I do not need a precise awareness of what my future holds because I know the sovereign One outside of time. The Alpha and Omega who knows the beginning from the end in His timelessness.

My grandmother's words return to me: "You may not know what is to come, but you know the One who knows." Security in the face of a fast-approaching future is only found in pursuing Him, the One who holds all the waters of time in His hands.

Depths of Grace

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Longing for Lion Eyes

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"You have lion eyes," my dad said. "Like mine."

I inherited his eyes – brown and molten gold in the sunlight, and I long for the heart behind those eyes – reflecting both warm tenderness and fierce flashes of fortitude. Instead, I wake from care-ridden nights of fear, tossing and turning the tables on myself.

As much as I long to have lion-hearted valiance, my eyes too often dim with hesitation and weariness. I turn my gaze downward, rather than setting my mind's eye on eternal things.

I can only be strong in the Lord and the strength of His might (Eph. 6:10). Only then can I "not fear anything that is frightening" (1 Pet. 3:6). This is a faith-driven fearlessness in the face of the most menacing foes – even death itself.

We must have a reverent fear of God, awestruck and speechless in light of His infinite holiness. Through this worshipful fear, we move forward with a bravery provided through our Great High Priest, the Lion of Judah Himself. His atonement guarantees that we can "with confidence draw near to the throne of grace, that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need" (Heb. 4:16).

This mercy and grace will carry us to a place of fearless determination, where our lives are spent for the gospel. It fuels a willingness to "run with endurance the race set before us, looking to Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith" (Heb. 12:1-2).

"Turn your eyes upon Jesus, Look full in His wonderful face, And the things of Earth will grow strangely dim, In the light of His glory and grace."

Eyes that blaze with lion-hearted courage are only possible as we gaze on Him who redeemed us. Filling our eyes with the Lord's splendor and majesty, we behold His glory and reflect that glory with the brilliance of unshakable hope in our "sure and steadfast anchor" (Heb. 6:19).

May we run in His strength alone, pursuing lion-like boldness, confident joy, and courageous devotion.

Top 10 Summer 2016 Reading List

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Here is a sampling of the books I read this summer! With the exception of Bible reading and various ongoing devotional readings, this represents a substantial amount of what I read over the course of the past few months. I am a firm believer in one's reading list reflecting a lot of who they are, so welcome to a bit of who I am, embodied in my summer reading list.

• The Death of Ivan Ilyich, Leo Tolstoy (fiction): Ivan Ilyich is a haunting exploration of one man's foray into the heights of worldly success and his ultimate downfall – a dire diagnosis leading to a rapidly dark confrontation with death.

Why you should read it: At some point, every person must come face-to-face with the sure reality of death in their own life and the lives of others. This book excellently chronicles the struggle of a man devoid of hope, echoing the turmoil of millions even today. For Christians, this should drive an increased urgency in sharing the gospel with those around us. Thanks be to God, through whom "death is swallowed up in victory" (1 Cor. 15:55)!

• Into All the World: Four Stories of Pioneer Missionaries, Vance Christie (biography): One of several missionary biographies I delved into this summer, Into All the World succinctly chronicles the lives and ministries of four pioneer missionaries into previously unreached areas: David Brainerd to Native Americans in colonial America, Adoniram Judson in Burma, Robert Moffat in South Africa, and John Paton in the South Pacific.

Why you should read it: Stories of the Lord's faithfulness throughout the history of His church are manifold, and I often found myself in chills reading about the tenacity and courage of these pioneer missionaries as well as others, such as Amy Carmichael and Gladys Aylward. Missionary biographies provide a wonderful opportunity to worship the Lord for His great power worked through the lives of redeemed sinners for His glory!

• The Knowledge of the Holy, A.W. Tozer (Christian living): Tozer's book is a brief exploration of the attributes of God, approached in reverence and awe. His passion and love for the character of God and focus on increased praise given to the Godhead is stirring and thought-provoking.

Why you should read it: In his Institutes, Calvin said, "Though the knowledge of God and the knowledge of ourselves are bound together by a mutual tie, due arrangement requires that we treat of the former in the first place, and then descend to the latter." Therefore, we must be dedicated to a pursuit of the knowledge of the Most High. It is only in light of His character and truth that all else falls into place.

• The Book Thief, Marcus Zusak (fiction): The Book Thief, to this day, is one of the most phenomenally written novels I have ever read. A monumental work of human experience set in 1940s Germany, this book combines rich imagery and grand themes, all woven into a deeply immersive story.

Why you should read it: If a well-executed, personified Death as narrator is not enough to convince you, let me just say that the utter vastness of content in this 550 page book goes far beyond its pages. The gripping nature of Zusak's exploration of the human heart will leave you reeling for days, as it certainly still does every time I reread it.

• North and South, Elizabeth Gaskell (fiction): Margaret Hale, the main character of North and South, is described as a "renegade clergyman's daughter." Though meant as an insult, this descriptor is actually the one that best embodies Hale's spirit. Driven by the strength of her faith and compassion for others, Hale embarks on a journey into the suffering world of the impoverished and downtrodden.

Why you should read it: Hale's unflinching fearlessness in the midst of rioting, class tension, and all sorts of other obstacles is mesmerizing. This heroine is also described as having a "straight, fearless, dignified presence" and "stately simplicity," making her one to admire as a "framework of elegance."

• Discipline: The Glad Surrender, Elisabeth Elliot (Christian living): Elliot's firm motivation for a well-ordered life is a love and devotion to her Lord, in discipline of everything from feelings to time. She is open and honest, correcting wrong thinking in her writing with much needed truth from Scripture.

Why you should read it: Well, it's written by Elisabeth Elliot. Enough said. Really though, her prose is straightforward and piercing, full of both conviction and encouragement. A crucial read for any person in any stage of life!

• The Savage My Kinsman, Elisabeth Elliot (autobiography): The Savage My Kinsman is a chronicle of Elisabeth Elliot's time spent living with the Indian tribe that killed her husband. Hers is a story of remarkable working of the Lord in the life of a young widow willing to commit herself to the gospel, no matter the cost.

Why you should read it: In spite of hostility and a real threat to her very life, Elisabeth Elliot was determined to be committed in proclaiming the gospel of her God in some of the most grueling life circumstances imaginable. Within the Auca tribe's village, she truly lived 2 Corinthians 12:15: "And I will very gladly spend and be spent for your souls; though the more abundantly I love you, the less I am loved."

• Let Me Be a Woman, Elisabeth Elliot, (Christian living): Elliot's book is a challenge for women of the Word to stand strong with backbones of steel in conviction, integrity, dignity, and an unwavering devotion to their God.

Why you should read it: What it means to be a woman is clearly defined in Scripture, and Elliot writes bite-sized chapters based on those truths with examples and anecdotes. Moving on from this book, I was abundantly encouraged to walk in closer communion to the Lord through His word.

• Through Gates of Splendor, Elisabeth Elliot, (biography): A thorough and at times chilling recounting of the lives of five young missionary men who poured out their lives to reach a tribe that mercilessly killed them, this is a tale of ordinary men called by an extraordinary God for an extraordinary mission.

Why you should read it: Radical Christian sacrifice is a reality we are all called to. Though it may not directly result in the loss of our lives on the mission field, we know that "whoever would save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for my sake will find it" (Matt. 16:25). We must be willing to sacrifice all for the sake of Him who has borne our griefs and carried our sorrows (Is. 53), devoting all we have to His service.

• Stepping Heavenward, Elizabeth Prentiss (Christian living/biographical fiction): Prentiss describes one woman's journey from being a 16-year-old girl to mature womanhood, all through biographically based journal entries in this 19th century classic.

Why you should read it: If anything, read Stepping Heavenward for stunning quotes like this one: "Cheerfully and gratefully I lay myself and all I am or own at the feet of Him who redeemed me with His precious blood, determining to follow Him, bearing the cross He lays upon me."

May that be my heartcry now and always.

What books did you read this summer? Which books would you like to read?

Traveling Home

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I am at home among the trees. In the forest, the air is full of brimming life, and towering pine branches rustle whisperings of majesty. Nature draws me to awe-filled worship of the King, and I often ache to make my home in the woodlands.

I blissfully drive Guinevere, my trusty black Honda Accord, through winding, tree-lined roads, euphoric in the exploration of nature. Yet I must remember even the most scenic views are temporal and mere shadows of the splendor to come – when we arrive home.

Home. 

Where is that elusive idea? I have found homes in treasured people and places alike, but they cannot be the stabilizing anchors of my heart, for they will pass away. But His Word and His truth and His city never pass away.

"For here we have no lasting city, but we seek the city that is to come." Hebrews 13:14

I am an earthly nomad – a sojourner and pilgrim in this world, waiting for the heavenly home where I truly belong. I long for that eternal, heavenly city along with a chorus of blood-bought sinners who have all received undeserved grace upon grace.

Still within the firm grip of time and not yet caught in the unending stream of eternity, we strive and toil in this life. We pursue holiness and faithfulness and yearn for the day when we weary pilgrims reach the Celestial City.

Until the sovereignly ordained moment when I reach my final destination, I will journey through woods and waves. I will seek the One who is worthy to be praised and honored all my days on this earth. I will serve Him with what meager gifts I have, resigned to the perfection of His providence.

I catch glimpses of that kind of tenacious devotion – like a child peeking through her fingers, temporarily blinded at the brilliance of God's glory. If I'm not rooted in Christ, I'll wander all over the earth, chased by incessant restlessness, which is why I must be anchored in His word.

I will continue to travel through this swift earthly existence, driving Guinevere beneath star-emblazoned skies, along endless coastal highways and windy, mountainous roads. But my real destination is farther and unseen.

Until. 

The day when I experience sweetest and fullest communion with my Lord and His saints is coming. In that great and final day, I imagine that the words, "Well done, good and faithful servant" will sound quite a bit like "Welcome home."

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For more breathtaking shots of Yosemite, watch "Euphoria," a stunning supercut video from Caleb Arend Films.