God has spoken

The scroll is opened.
The oil lamp flickers.

I sit here, my little son close against me. I lift my eyes to the reader. “God spoke many times and in many ways before…”

I breathe out. These words are familiar. Safe. Then I hear it: “In these last days, He has spoken in His Son.”

The room tightens. I know what this costs. I know how much easier it would be to step back. To be less visible. To be careful.

The oil lamp trembles.

The Son—heir of all things, through whom the ages were made, the radiance of God’s glory.

My faith in Messiah has wavered these past weeks… not because I doubt, but because believing has become dangerous.

“He made purification for sins and sat down at the right hand of Majesty.”

The words keep coming.
And as they do, I stay.

🪔

The oil lamp still burns.
I keep listening.
I hold on to the letter.

I whisper: please… read on.

—

“A bruised reed He will not break,
nor will He snuff out a smoldering wick.”
Isaiah 42:3