Most of us live with the nagging sense that we are behind.
We are behind on our work, behind on our rest, and—most significantly—behind on our souls.
We imagine God as a disappointed coach standing at the finish line, looking at His watch, wondering why we’re still struggling somewhere back at the three-mile mark.
Because we are frantic, we assume He is frantic.
Because we are reacting to every crisis, we assume He is in a state of constant emergency management.
We think that if we could just find a moment of silence—if we could just get our lives "ordered" enough—we might finally catch up to Him.
The Psalms speak about the throne of God in a very different way than we usually imagine.
Psalm 9 says,
“The LORD shall endure forever;
He has prepared His throne for judgment…
The LORD also will be a refuge for the oppressed,
A refuge in times of trouble.”
Notice the order.
The throne is established first.
And because it is established, it becomes a refuge.
The righteous do not run from the throne.
They run to it.
The vision of heaven tells a different story.
When the curtain is pulled back, we don't find a God who is pacing. We don't find a God who is scrambling to fix what we’ve broken, or a God who is stressed about the future.
We find a God who is seated.
There is a profound, almost offensive stillness at the center of the universe. In a world where everything is moving, God is at rest. In a world where everyone is trying to prove their worth, God is simply, radiantly there.
This means that your spiritual life is not a race to catch up to a moving target.
If God is seated, it means He isn't going anywhere. He isn't "ahead" of you in time, waiting for you to become a better version of yourself. He is the fixed point. He is the shore that doesn't move, no matter how hard the tide pulls at your feet.
You don't need to find more "time" to get into His presence. You can’t "get into" something that already surrounds you. You don't bring the light into a room by working for it; you just open the blinds.
The "rest" we are looking for isn't something we manufacture by being more disciplined. It’s something we fall into when we finally realize that the One who holds the world isn't tired.
If you are exhausted tonight, don't try to run toward Him. You’ll only tire yourself out more.
Just stop.
Recognize that while you are spinning, He is steady. While you are worried, He is certain. He is not waiting for you to arrive; He is the ground you are already standing on.
The throne is occupied. The King is at rest. And because He is not pacing, you don't have to either.
---000--- The Sea of Glass — Ending the Scramble
We are a generation of scramblers.
We scramble to keep our jobs. We scramble to keep our kids on the right track. We scramble to protect our reputations and manage our futures. We live in a state of high-alert, convinced that if we let our focus slip for even a moment, the "sea" of our lives will rise up and swallow us whole.
In the ancient world, the sea was the ultimate symbol of chaos. It was deep, dark, and unpredictable. It was the place where things were lost. For most of us, that is exactly how life feels—unstable and threatening.
So we spend our energy trying to build walls. We try to "master" the water. We think that if we work hard enough, we can finally make the waves stop.
In the vision of heaven, something impossible has happened to the sea.
John says it has become a "sea of glass, clear as crystal."
This isn't just a poetic detail. It’s a statement about authority. Glass is what happens when you take the wild, shifting elements of the earth and subject them to intense heat until they are fixed, transparent, and still.
The sea in heaven isn't gone; it has just lost its power to be chaotic. It has been stilled. It is so subdued that the King can literally walk on it, and the elders can sit beside it without fear.
The great irony of our exhaustion is that we are trying to still the sea ourselves. We think our "scrambling" is what keeps the chaos at bay.
It’s the other way around.
The chaos is stilled because the Throne is occupied. The waves don't obey your effort; they obey His presence.
When you realize this, the "scramble" loses its meaning. You can stop trying to manage the outcomes of your life as if you are the one holding back the tide. You aren't. You never were.
You can look at the things that terrify you—the uncertainty of the future, the mistakes of the past—and see them for what they are in the light of the Throne: Subdued. They are no longer a dark, deep mystery. They are glass. Transparent. Contained. Under His feet.
The goal of faith is not to get to a place where there are no more "seas." The goal is to realize that the sea you are currently drowning in is already crystal-clear to the One who is seated.
You don't have to fix the chaos. You just have to remember who owns it.
---000--- The Radiance That Cannot Be Pinned Down
We live in the age of the "Object."
Everything in our world is measured, photographed, rated, and reduced to a data point. We do this to our careers, our bodies, and eventually, our souls. We try to pin ourselves down so we can be understood. We think that if we can just define ourselves clearly enough, we will finally feel secure.
But when John looks at the Throne, he stops using measurements.
He doesn't describe God’s height, His features, or His "stats." He doesn't give us a list of God’s accomplishments or a summary of His "brand."
He uses the language of Radiance.
Jasper. Carnelian. Emerald. Light passing through stone.
The God at the center of the universe refuses to be reduced to an object. He is not a "thing" you can analyze; He is a Presence you experience. He is too "much" to be captured by a camera or a category.
This is where the pressure of our own image begins to break.
We spend so much time worrying about whether we are "enough"—enough of a leader, enough of a parent, enough of a believer. We treat our lives like a project that needs to be finished so it can be admired.
But if the God you are standing before is Indescribable, why are you working so hard to be "Defined"?
If the source of all life is a radiant, un-pinnable beauty, then perhaps the "version" of yourself you are trying so hard to maintain is actually a prison. Perhaps the reason you feel so tired is that you are trying to turn a living soul into a static object.
In the presence of the Throne, you don't need a "definition." You don't need a reputation to defend or an image to protect.
When a stone is placed in the sun, it doesn't have to "explain" itself. It doesn't have to prove it’s a good stone. It just sits there and catches the light. It becomes radiant, not because of its own effort, but because it is near the source.
Faithfulness is not about refining your "image" until it’s perfect. It’s about being "Lowly" enough to stop caring about your image at all.
You can stop being the "Object" that the world examines. You can just be the stone in the sun.
The light is already shining. The colors are already there. You aren't being evaluated; you are being illuminated. And in that light, the need to be "understood" by the world finally fades into the joy of being known by the King.
---000--- The Vigilance of the Rested
We are a tired people who are afraid to sleep.
Not just physical sleep, but the sleep of the soul. We keep ourselves in a state of constant, low-grade alarm. We scan the news, our bank accounts, and the moods of the people we love, looking for the first sign of a crack. We have mistaken "Worry" for "Watchfulness."
We think that if we relax, the world will stop turning.
But around the Throne, John sees "Living Creatures" that are covered in eyes. They are the ultimate symbols of vigilance. They never sleep. They are fully, terrifyingly awake.
But here is the difference: Their eyes are not looking for trouble.
They aren't scanning the horizon for a crisis. They aren't watching for a threat to the King’s authority or a leak in the heavenly ceiling. They are "Full of Eyes" because they are mesmerized. They are so captivated by the beauty at the center that they cannot look away.
Their vigilance is not driven by Fear, but by Awe.
On earth, our eyes are usually wide with panic. We are looking for what might go wrong. We are "Vigilant" because we don't trust the ground we stand on.
But in the Presence, you are invited to a different kind of wakefulness.
You don't have to keep watch over your life anymore. You don't have to be the sentry standing guard over your family’s future or your own soul's security. That position has already been filled.
There are "Living Creatures" whose only job is to be awake so that you can rest. There is a King who "neither slumbers nor sleeps" so that you don't have to carry the weight of the midnight watch.
Imagine what would happen to your stress levels if you realized that your "Vigilance" was redundant.
You can close your eyes. You can let the "pacing" in your mind stop. Not because the world is safe, but because the One who is awake is Worthy. Faithfulness isn't being the one who spots the trouble first. Faithfulness is being the one who finally trusts that the Throne doesn't need your help to stay secure.
You are allowed to be "Off Duty."
The eyes in heaven are already watching. The King is already reigning. And for the first time in a long time, you are allowed to be the one who finally, deeply, falls asleep in the peace of being guarded.
---000--- The Seven Lamps — The Fullness of the "Now"
We are a people of the "Draft."
Most of our days are spent in the messy middle of things. We are "works in progress," and we hate it. We look at our lives and see a long list of things that are partially built, half-repaired, or waiting for a "Version 2.0" that never seems to arrive.
We assume that God is a perfectionist waiting for the paint to dry. We think the "Presence" is a room we can only enter once the mess is cleared away and the work is finally complete.
But in the vision of the Throne, John sees Seven Lamps of Fire.
In the language of the heavens, "Seven" is the number of Fullness. It’s the number of completion. It’s the sign that nothing is missing, nothing is lacking, and nothing is "waiting for an update."
The lamps don't flicker like they’re running out of oil. They don't dim because the "churches" on earth are having a bad week. They burn with the "Fullness of the Spirit."
This means that while you are living in the "Fragment," you are standing before a God who is Total.
This is the end of the "Pressure of the Partial."
You don't have to wait until your life is "whole" to experience the "Fullness" of God. You don't have to be "finished" to be "accepted." The Seven Lamps are already burning. The completion you are striving for is already a reality in the room where He sits.
On earth, we are obsessed with "Potential"—with what we could be if we just tried harder. But in the Presence, God isn't looking at your potential; He is inviting you into His Actuality.
He is the "I AM"—the One who is already, eternally, and fully Himself.
When you realize this, you can stop treating your life like a construction site that you’re embarrassed to show visitors. You can stop apologizing for being "in-progress."
The Lamps are not burning because of how well you did today. They are burning because of who He is. You are allowed to be a "Fragment" in the presence of the "Fullness." You are allowed to be "incomplete" because the One you are with is Finished.
This is exactly what the psalmist saw long before John ever wrote the book of Revelation.
“The LORD shall endure forever;
He has prepared His throne…
The LORD also will be a refuge…
A refuge in times of trouble.”
The throne is not just a seat of authority.
It is a refuge.
Not because life is calm.
Not because the sea is always still.
But because the King is seated.
You can come as you are—fragmented, tired, unfinished…
Because the King is not pacing.
He is seated.
And His kingdom is not falling apart…
