The hour we first believed was the hour of our ruin. It was the hour we died. This death, though traumatic, was actually a transformation. It was the door to life. It was the cutting away of an old identity, leaving a tonsured space where a new, sanctified identity could exist. Because we were terrified of death during that dark night of the soul, we clung to new life being offered and to Him who offered it. A new life, and a newly regenerated self to experience it. We were escaping one form of bondage to be delivered into another! It was terrifying to have the earth tremble under our feet as this brutal realignment took replace, even if we were safe in the cleft of the rock. Before our first encounter with the living God, our own original nature was the easy yoke and the light burden. If dying and being reborn in Christ wasn't traumatic enough, there is the prospect of living in a world not as its child but as its apostate. And why? Because for us, it has become nothing but shadows and echoes of the true reality. The hour we first believed was our reintroduction to the world familiar to us, familiar, yet new. Traced afresh by the indwelling Spirit ...
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