Like the elaborate centre piece on a banqueting table and the focal point in a fine-art painting, Jesus is the answer to the question of creation. Like the golden thread woven into the tapestry of time and the crescendo of eternity's song, Jesus is all and in all.
The space between every atom in existence is occupied by vibrations; the word of God. He uttered the words that bore in them the substance of creation. By the sounds of His lips the heavens and the earth were fashioned, and by these words all things are continuously upheld.
Where is Jesus? The question is, where is he not.
I exist not because my father and mother do, but because He does. Apart from Him, I am not. I can not. I do not. He is the substance of me. We died together at Calvary, where he clothed me in himself. It is no longer I who live, but he that lives through me. Apart from Him I can do no thing.
From the galaxies distant and unexplored, to parts of my being unchartered and unseen, there he dwells. He lives in the chorus of creation's silence and makes his home in the melody of a heartbeat. Life means adventuring in the wide open spaces of his plans for me. It's a field of flowers, which are his dreams for me, thought up before the foundation of time.
"If I rise up on the wings of dawn
Or settle on the far side of the sea
Even there your hand will guide me
Your right hand will hold me."