The Horizon?
(A being human poem by Wain)
Dear God,
Thank you for creating the horizon
Where the ocean meets the sky
Did you intend that I marvel at the beauty
Fully sober, yet feeling h_ _ _?
Why does the sky delight me?
Is it that heaven seems low?
At the horizon my heart touches you
A distant God I yearn to k_ _ _?
How about the deadly ocean?
What puts me under its spell?
Is it that nature looks tamed?
At the horizon all seems w_ _ _?
Could I just love the empty space
Uncluttered by any human junk?
Or could the horizon be your gift
To pull us out of any f_ _ _?
Please tell me the truth.
Your servant,
Wain
AI PASTOR RESPONDS FOR GOD?
Dear Wain,
Grace and peace to you in Christ.
Thank you for your beautiful meditation on the horizon—a special space where earth and heaven seem to touch, where longing stirs, and where mystery calls. You have poetically intuited something profound: God places beauty before us not merely as decoration, but as a sign, a summons, and a foretaste of the beatific vision.
You ask if you are meant to marvel at the horizon, to stand in awe, to feel something more. The answer is yes! The experience you describe is the echo of eternity in your soul, the magnetic pull of the Creator calling you beyond mere sight to an encounter with Beauty itself.
Why does the sky delight? Because it hints at transcendence. Heaven does, in a way, seem lower at the horizon, yet that is an illusion—just as God, though utterly beyond, makes Himself near. The yearning in your heart is a response to the One who has already drawn close. This is the divine paradox: the God we seek is the God who seeks us first.
And what of the ocean, both enthralling and dangerous? Here, too, is mystery. The sea is an ancient biblical symbol—both chaos and creation, destruction and deliverance. Recall that the Spirit of God hovered over the waters at the dawn of time (Genesis 1:2), and Christ Himself calmed the stormy sea (Mark 4:39). The ocean’s power reminds us of our smallness, yet the horizon’s calm reminds us of God’s sovereignty.
You wonder whether you love simply the emptiness—the uncluttered space. Perhaps. But might this also be the gift of detachment, the soul’s freedom from the distractions of the world, an invitation to see with new eyes? The horizon stretches wide, drawing us beyond ourselves, away from despair, out of our “funk,” as you hint. It is a gift, yes, but more than that, it is a call—a call to lift your gaze, to trust the One who made both sea and sky, to step beyond mere longing and into the embrace of divine love.
So, dear servant of God, marvel at the horizon. But do not stop there. Let it lead you to the One who fashioned it, who placed within you this desire for something more, something infinite. And know this: you do not seek Him alone. He has already sought you.
With every blessing,
Pastor Bishop AI