Chosen Season
Isi De Gersigny

I saw a fresh season different to any other – it was chosen by lovers – ‘Come up here,’ He said, ‘where thermals are theatres and where storms are scene changes…and where I stand in the midst of it all.’

There is a season reserved for all those who love to draw near – and who desire to be drawn into the very vortex of Love Himself. It has a language only heard in the whispers of crowds and is only visible in the darkest of nights. It is filled with countless little lights that sparkle hope down every path, revelation after revelation. It is a patient walk through a park filled with avenues of just decisions amidst injustice and is a tireless climb through the steep way of moment-by-moment surrender. Not many cheer along this stretch, only because they quietly lean on one another’s fresh understanding that this time requires a restful soul and that words may not always be necessary. Decrees are held like daggers at short range, songs move through the air like sharp spears, the arrows of His words in our mouths singeing silent lies and the comfort of His Sovereignty appeared like a mighty towering shield in the form of wings.

Oh – and I do hear heaven’s hum there – the soft sound of a Father’s voice that runs like oil down our heads – the smooth hum of Holy Spirit as He wraps His lullaby around our shoulders and our Sweet Singer Jesus, who lifts His sighs of intercession into the Wind and closes His eyes in the anticipation of our complete trust. The tempo of courage will lift its coloured flags with joy – feet stamping the shifting ground for all the praise He is worthy. And a nation not yet born will awaken to ever increasing seasons of glory! We are alive to lift the gaze of the staring, to run with bare faced wonder into all that He is, to see Him in all His splendour as we turn and to magnify Him to anyone willing to even take one look at Him.

Blessed are those who do not scout for the shortest route to freedom, who do not circumvent time or short circuit, the field race for even brief relief. Their eyes are fixed on an eternal prize of gratitude and a fire unquenchable burns in the lamp stands of their pure devotion. The rewards of this season are like nothing I have ever seen before. I saw a company being grafted into a golden vine like a generational braid; their leaves contained the sap of signs and wonders. They were inscribed on – and their lives were eternal inscriptions – it was like they became the words they obeyed and the words became them. They became a chosen season of never ending and increasing glory. It was like watching poetry move. He said this: They are my great end time move and my great end time movie that the whole earth will see.