The best time for me to think is at night. Everybody is asleep, and the house is quiet. All that’s audible is the faint tick tock of the clock in the hall. I crawl halfway under my covers, and turn on the lamp by my bedside. Its soft glow fills the room. I find the Book, and begin to read.
Lately I have been loving the thought of God on His throne, high and exalted, and the train of His robe filling the temple. I envision His angels around Him and His international choir at His feet, admiring and celebrating His perfection. What a glorious imagination this is! The splendour is far beyond even my most wonderful thought.
The other night I found the chapter (Isaiah 6) where that phenomenal scene is described. I read on this time, though, to discover Isaiah’s response to such a sight. He cried, "Woe is me!" What a perfectly normal declaration. In light of the holiness of God, we are all wretches; aren't we? As Shakespeare put so well, He hath a beauty that makes me ugly.
That is why I'm so grateful for Jesus. Because Jesus is my perfection, I can come into His courts with thanksgiving in my heart. My ugly sin is forgiven, and I'm free to do what I was created to do... to gaze upon His beauty... and in so doing be beautiful myself... the unfading kind of beautiful described in first Peter three, verses four and five... the kind of beautiful that He gets all the glory.
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