I made a drawing of a staircase I saw in my imagination a few years ago. It doesn’t do the staircase justice of course. And that’s because it doesn’t reveal the silky medium caramel color of the wood with its swirling grain. Or the carved and perfectly fitted parts. A drawing can’t share how velvety the staircase is to touch or how inviting it is to a barefoot or tired bum. And the drawing doesn’t have all the many cupboards, some secret, which create the fascinating journey upward.
But if I could take you inside my imagination, you’d see and understand how it might take a week to finally arrive at the top landing. Not because it is so high, but because there’s a world inside each captivating crevasse and hidden compartment. And you’d be drawn to recline in the seat and turn on the light. There you’d lean back and read one of the books, or close your eyes and nap. I imagine fairy tale worlds emerge in naps taken there.
Next, you’d peruse the chest and leaf through and dream again. And the thought of ever leaving the staircase would be dreaded.
A few years after I saw this compelling staircase and marveled at it, Father said it was an allegory of my journey with Him. The slow, pleasurable ascension, the countless hidden treasures along the way, and the comfort of absorbing His trove of great price.
I never want to leave this journey. The fulfillment is not in reaching the top but at every step along the way.
“Oh, that I could climb the stairs and sit with you. To study your messages and ponder your thoughts. I would linger for hours and never rise for food or drink because your Words fill me full.”