Waiting
“But hark the herald of the sun, the auroral wind, softly trumpeting His approach! The master-minister of the human tabernacle is at hand! Heaping before his prow a huge ripple-fretted wave of crimson and gold, he rushes aloft, as if newly launched from the urging hand of his maker into the upper sea–pauses, and looks down on the world. White-raving storm of molten metals, he is but a coal from the altar of the Father’s never-ending sacrifice to his children. See every little flower straighten its stalk, lift up its neck, and with out-stretched head stand expectant: something more than the sun, greater than the light, is coming, is coming–nonetheless surely coming that it is long upon the road! What matters today, or tomorrow, or ten thousand years to Life himself, to Love himself! He is coming, is coming, and the necks of all humanity are stretched out to see him come! Every morning will they thus outstretch themselves, every evening will they droop and wait–until He comes. Is this but an air-drawn vision? When He comes, will He indeed find them watching thus? It was a glorious resurrection-morning. The night had been spent in preparing it!” –George MacDonald, Lilithe
“what [he] actually did to me was to convert, even to baptize my imagination…The quality which had enchanted me in his imaginative works turned out to be the quality of the real universe, the divine, magical, terrifying and ecstatic reality in which we all live.” C.S. Lewis of MacDonald
“I have never concealed the fact that I regarded George MacDonald as my master; indeed, I fancy I have never written a book in which I did not quote from him.” C.S. Lewis
“Surely, George MacDonald is the grandfather of us all–all of us who struggle to come to terms with truth through fantasy.” Madeleine L’Engle
