Solitude

I'm finding each day with gaping pockets and places where Jonathan--my projected other half--once filled my thoughts, actions, motives, and dreams. Now, I'm finding these empty places in spaces of solitude. I'm finding my mind wandering to Jonathan in my day-to-day errands, in my task-taking trips, and in moments of just plain old missing due to the lack of him being beside me. But when I sit intentionally, in solitude, a change has stirred deep within me.
My dependency on Jesus has become my sight of vision. I've sought Jesus in these moments and the clarity of it all has been deeply wrought in my heart. 

Similarly, I find myself seeking this solitude. I feel so starkly introverted for these quiet moments with my Jesus. I also feel so bare in these moments; I am so apt to cry. Not crying out of sadness or utter joy, but out of a sole closeness. I don't know how else to describe it.

I am newly transfixed, I guess you could say. I am held and my gaze is held. I can't say again, or back in the arms of Jesus, because this sense is so fresh to my senses--like I've never known it before. I am reminded of how it feels to look at the sun, blinding and bright, a distance a human can never overcome. And then there is that quintessential Christian quote by C.S. Lewis: "I believe in Christianity as I believe that the sun has risen: not because I see it, but because by it I see everything." This quote is not only brilliant to me, but gives me an incredible visual. I know that Jesus Christ is savior, like high noon and the all-enncompassing sunshine giving shapes their contours and life to the wild, but in this as I worship, I so desire to see the Lord's face fully. Jesus isn't out of reach in this line of vision.
I want to stand face-to-face with this perfect Sunshine and reach out and touch it, the heart of my heart. I am struck anew by the awe of our God.