There is an arrow on the floor of the hospital room where baby Blake was born.
In hotel drawers where Gideon Bibles would be if you were in America, are arrows.
On the side of the road today were five men, lined up shoulder to shoulder facing a corner wall, hands palms up, with one man in front of them leading them through prayers. Even they resembled an arrow.
All arrows pointing toward one city.
Lest anyone forget which way to turn. Lest I forget where I am.
I've read of arrows, flaming ones. I always perceived them in relation to me and those around me. Today, with those men on the side of the road, I am perceiving the arrows differently. All those in this place seem to be pointing in the same direction, drawn from the same quiver, and that, simultaneously, pierces my heart with the flaming arrow.
The Buckler is the only safe and comforting place I know in the midst of all these arrows. Oh, that all arrows would direct to Him!
"The LORD is my rock, and my fortress, and my deliverer; my God, my strength, in whom I will trust; my buckler, and the horn of my salvation, and my high tower."
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