Face of the Father

I tilted my head toward the heavens,

And there before me,

Adorned in light and overwhelming radiance,

Sat a man on the edge of a cloud,

Quietly He sat,

Unmoving, unshaken,

And so entirely magnificent,

My eyes were unworthy to behold Him,

Undeserving to lay upon,

A glance of paradise,

Of mysterious glory and holiness,

Wonderous beauty,

And I had never seen anything perfect before this,

Being trapped in a haven of sin,

Where evil and wickedness lived together,

But He was perfect,

Flawless,

I cast my eyes down in shame of my humanness,

That I, a sinner,

Consumed by my own iniquity,

Could even for a moment believe,

That I was meant to look upon Him freely,

I covered my face with my trembling hands,

And shook my head,

But all of heaven began to sing,

And I felt the healing touch of the Creator,

Who, in all encompassing splendor,

Sat before me,

Raised on clouds and triumphantly exalted,

Magnified,

Seated on the throne above,

And He reached to lay his hand upon me,

Willingly,

Touching even I,

The chief of sinners,

The lowest of all,

And I felt the roughness of His scared hands on my face,

They were there,

Just as were promised to me,

And He brushed a human tear,

From my eyes unable to bear the light,

Whispering...

My child, look into the eyes of your Father,

And I did,

For only a moment, a second in time,

While the world melted around me,

And inwardly did I rejoice,

Knowing I had all of eternity to behold him again.