The path of the saints

Where can I go from your spirit? Or where can I flee from your presence? If I ascend to heaven, you are there; if I make my bed in Sheol, you are there. If I take the wings of the morning and settle at the farthest limits of the sea, even there your hand shall lead me, and your right hand shall hold me fast. (Psalm 139:7-10)

It’s the old ones who taught me the power of a life of prayer. People like Betty, in her 90s, telling me, ‘if I die tonight, it doesn’t matter. I’ve got people waiting for me either way.’

Or Fran, lying in bed on the last day of her life, quoting, again, a psalm long-engraved on her heart. ‘I will both lie down and sleep in peace … for you, O Lord, make me lie down in safety.’ And so, she did, that very night.

Through decades of prayer, their hearts came to know the unfailing love of the One who is deeper than every ocean, beyond the stars and as near as our breath. When the time came, just like their Lord Jesus, they commended their souls to that love.

‘Where can I go to flee from your presence?’ the Psalmist asked. It’s not really a question. It’s the cry of an overwhelmed heart, who knows there is no place God is not, no moment love cannot find him. 

And so, we walk the path the saints have tread, praying our way into the love of the One who seeks us still, until we know, as they have known, the One who loves us whole.

David L. Miller