Rising Fog.

 

 

The gas hand in my truck.

I was praying, hoping, petitioning God Himself that I would have enough gas in my truck yesterday to get back and forth to work.  On the way there, I was tying myself in knots, in my own thoughts, going back and forth on the matter, whether to just turn around, or press on.

All along the way, Hwy 9, the farmland in Dillon and Marlboro counties in South Carolina, part of the so-called "Cotton Trail", flat land, between the piedmont and the sea, very well-watered and fertile, great for growing cotton every year.

The fog was rising.

I was thinking: I could see the sun through the remnant of the fog, and thought, not the Sun but the Son.

Christ was the solar body, burning off the fog of sin and doubt, and metaphorically, fog can easily be equated to doubt, and more thinly to sin, an obscuring force between ourselves and Christ.

That fog was all the prior dead souls coming up, the dead souls and the doubts, dead souls rising into the air, vaporous, going to dissipate into thin air on the ascent to heaven.

Doubts dissipating, too.

Sin dissipating.

Every obscuring force between ourselves and the Lord coming to some sort of evaporation, leaving behind clarity.

A perfect clarity, just as perfect as the Perfect Law of Liberty, to rest in God's will.

For my own part, it was like God was telling me just to continue my drive to work, as planned.  Not that it had the endorsement of God, but maybe that it was better than the alternatives, it was, if not God's outright enumerated plan for me, then it was closer to His will than was turning around and going home.

Under the Perfect Law of Liberty, we look for the will of God to help guide us, we loosen ourselves in our daily walks, to wait for His guidance.  This loosening of our schedules and self-imposed time tables is the Liberty of choosing the Father's will.  And more importantly, the Father's will slots us into perfection and harmony with everyone else.

Everyone wins when we all go to the Father's will.

But that clarity then, that perfect brilliant orb sitting high in the sky: the Sun, the promise of the Son returned.