If I wholly unleash my imagination and forcefully stretch it out beyond its own edges, even at such a point I can only imagine a thin shard of this most immense God. And even though it is but a thin shard, it will nonetheless be mesmerizingly colossal.

Often we don’t see the majesty of God’s design because we’re caught up in the mediocrity of our own designs.

The best way to see majesty is to strip away everything that pretends to be majestic so that which is fake wholly collapses in the face of that which is majestic. And God in a manger is likely the most remarkable example we have of such a monumental truth.

Maybe we don’t ever feel that sweetly untainted and wholly majestic kind of love that takes every longing captive because we are hopelessly entangled in the illogical fear that despite all of love’s grand goodness, it might not be good enough to keep us safe.

There is always some sort of call rolling in from distant horizons, heralding something afoot. And these calls are not the things of culture or podiums or platforms, for the calls of distant horizons are far too grand to be held captive to such menial things. Rather, they are the calls of God and life and things majestic beyond imagination.

If I had any hand in it at all there’s a chance that it might be beautiful, but it simply cannot not be majestic.