There is a privilege.
I find myself in common trains of thought,
A path well-travelled,
A trail that always leads me
To my pondering of this one tiny word:
I’m not the first to climb these steps,
Or wander up this hillside.
Men and women, boys and girls
Have long since tread where I now trod.
From Moses and David, watching sheep,
To Paul in prisons dark.
To Luther with his courage planted firmly in this place,
And many, many more throughout the ages of the past.
Standing on this hilltop yields a view unseen,
From the valley of routine that lies below.
Here, time stands still.
One can step out of life for a moment,
And turn and look back on it from a vantage point above.
This is the Hill of Truth.
Sometimes I love to come here for a quick refreshing pause.
And sometimes I come crawling back,
Desperate and muddled,
Needing deep, life-saving treatments for my thinking and my heart.
One thing tends to happen here,
No matter if my state is calm or troubled deep within.
When the clear, cool air and panoramic views of truth
Begin to sink down in,
Perspective tends to broaden, yes,
And clarity ensues.
An anchor, like a stallion’s lead,
Tames the wayward wand’rings of my feelings,
Giving them the leadership they unknowingly,
Yet quite desperately need.
And, without fail,
As the cool refreshing truth of God’s great Word,
Pushes out the fog of life
It also points me to this one amazing truth,
That defines and shapes the entirety of all the little
Details of my life:
I am unworthy.
Unworthy to know His truth.
Unworthy to receive His love.
Unworthy to own His saving grace and mercy.
Here on this hill and nowhere else,
I know who and why I am.
The confusing lights of culture’s pressures,
Can’t reach me here.
I can look up to see the stars,
Trillions of reminders bright,
Undimmed in all their message,
Of how truly great You are.
Standing here I learn anew,
Just how small I am.
And, without fail, my heart is moved
To ask a question then:
Why would God Almighty,
Holy Pow’r, Majestic glory undimmed,
Deign to call me His belov’d,
Move to save me from my sins?
Why such grace?
Why such privilege undeserved?
And every other ‘why’
I carry up that sacred hill,
Fades into that bigger ‘why,’
My troubled heart grows still.