The Fourth of July is my favorite, non-religious holiday. Lately I've been thinking about why that is, and I can't quite pinpoint the reason. I think it has something to do with fireworks. These days, you can see them almost any day of the year, whenever there is a big celebration downtown Chicago or the Cougar's hit a home run, but they don't strike me quite like they do on the Fourth of July.
I love fireworks on the Fourth of July. There is something about them that takes my breath away. When I was little, I was terrified of the noise they made, but I still went to see them faithfully year after year. Plugging my ears through each *pop* and *bang,* I stared in wonder as the dark night sky became gloriously lit with every color of the rainbow in a flash of light, then went completely dark again, only to revive with color a few seconds later once more. Even though I cognitively know that the burst of light is coming, it still surprises me somehow when I witness it. Even though I know how beautiful it will be, the experience of it is so much greater than I can even imagine. Even though I know the fireworks will be big, it is not until I see them that I am amazed at how grand and massive and powerful they truly are.
And my thoughts turn toward God. The Light of the World. The second coming of Jesus Christ is certain; it will be wondrous and beautiful. The sky will be filled with a burst of His glory. All people will stand in awe and wonder as the Savior of mankind--the Redeemer and King--appears. And it will be surprising. Like a thief in the night. Like a firework that is lit off before the show even starts. Like the pop and bang that terrified me as a child, but mysteriously, I was drawn to it. I knew I was safe. I know I am safe. I know I am saved. And so I look forward to that coming day, when my knee will willingly bow at the feet of Jesus in awe of His beauty, strength, majesty, and power. Come quickly, Lord Jesus! Come!