There are several things that make me feel cozy. Coziness is listening to Don McLean in a hot truck on a bright summer's day, or being wrapped in an old blanket during a storm, or snuggling with drowsy babies or cats, or being on the receiving end of a loved one's smile. I love being cozy. Every time I meet someone new, I want them to feel cozy and loved. It is a sweet word because it invokes thoughts of Winnie the Pooh, slow turtles and turtleneck sweaters, spiced candles. Yet often in my state of coziness, I am inconsistent and disappointed. I notice that my blanket has holes or that my truck is stuck in mud. Soon I become a gaunt weed, pesky to my friends and my spiritual health. Coziness may bring me comfort, but it is never completely satisfying.
For when I am comfortable, I am a lotus in stagnant water, a goldfish in a small tank. I feel I am very much a mushroom—I don’t require sunlight to grow. But I desire sunlight. I desire each day to be consistently in the Sun’s presence. Ah, to soak up needed nutrients and vitamins, growing and stretching like a little flower to a source of light! I want to be as radiant as He is, content in the presence of the Son who sets hearts in eternal flames. Perhaps the greatest coziness is the fact that I will be His forevermore, and that I can live just as boldly in my disappointment as I do in His grace. I may experience the human frailty of inconsistency, but the Son is remarkably an ever fixed mark.
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