At the end is the beginning
At the end of our abilities, God’s abilities begin. At the end of a breath a new breath begins. I am at the end and because of the end, I can see the beginning.
The mysteries of our God wrap around the edges of understanding. They wrap around the edges and leak into comprehension. He uses the weak to confuse the strong. How does the Lord of Lords direct a million and more lives knowing just at the moment one of us recognize our deep need for guidance? Knowing the moment we cry out and knowing the answer even when we can’t find the question.
How did He conceive of such a plan as sending His own Son to be the perfect sacrifice? He despised the sacrificing of children and yet He did not even spare His own son. And then, right before there is hope of comprehending just a bit of this mystery, there is the whisper. The still voice that says, this sacrifice was not permanent. This sacrifice became the greatest victory. The victory that reaches down, grabs the dead by the hand and raises him to the place of highest honor. At then end, the beginning came.
Now, laying down to sleep in the quiet after many storms, in my bed, in my house filled with my things and my family, now laying down to sleep I feel the end of my “self”. This self that is being lifted off and away like the roof painfully separated by the wind. Yet at each layer lifted away something more wonderful is revealed. Not a piece of me that is more wonderful but a piece of Him. How is it that I should be so blessed? So blessed to lose pieces of myself that I might be clothed more and more in His righteousness.
This is my God who has overcome all evil. This is my God who loves each of us so much that at every end we find a brilliant new beginning. This is our God who every moment gives us new beginnings.
Thursday, May 26, 2011
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
Here
I'm sitting here in the same place where days ago my pain was so intense. Just hours ago, hours and minutes and seconds ago, I couldn't breathe because every inhalation felt like betrayal. I'm sitting here and rejoicing.
Watching our Father work is better than watching the greatest chef prepare a meal. Watching the pieces come together where there was no earthly way for them to fit is more amazing than watching any chopper OCC has ever built come together in the midst of family drama. Our God is so much bigger than we can ever comprehend.
I'm sitting here in the same place where just hours ago I prayed the prayer I heard on the radio the day before things fell apart. The preacher said "When you talk to God, tell Him: you told me to do this, now tell me how to get through it." I'm not sure what else he said because all I could here was that line. Hours later I said "Lord, You told me to do this. Now tell me how to make it through." He said go.
Every step seemed more than I could possibly take. But, He said go. I took each step. I remember some of them. The ones where I told my foot "move" and He moved it because I couldn't. I prayed over and over "You said do it, help me through it". He didn't need the reminder but I did.
Today I wore mascara for the first time in a week. When I woke up this morning I knew the steps would be easier. I thought about walking on water. I thought about how some days, you step out of the boat and are swallowed by the waves. I thought about other days when you step out of the boat and stay dry for a moment. One day I will step out of the boat and fly.
I'm sitting in the place where my heart felt more pain than I thought was possible. I'm sitting here hours, minutes, and seconds away from that pain and I'm rejoicing. My Father said go and I went. He moved heaven and earth to comfort me.
And the greatest thing is, while He was comforting me He was orchestrating a million other rescues, blessings, healings,comfortings. I am only an example. He will do even more wonderful things for you. I hope I get to watch. I want to see the miracles He works in the lives of everyone.
I'm sitting here in expectation of wonder and awe praising the creator of the universe who loves us!
Watching our Father work is better than watching the greatest chef prepare a meal. Watching the pieces come together where there was no earthly way for them to fit is more amazing than watching any chopper OCC has ever built come together in the midst of family drama. Our God is so much bigger than we can ever comprehend.
I'm sitting here in the same place where just hours ago I prayed the prayer I heard on the radio the day before things fell apart. The preacher said "When you talk to God, tell Him: you told me to do this, now tell me how to get through it." I'm not sure what else he said because all I could here was that line. Hours later I said "Lord, You told me to do this. Now tell me how to make it through." He said go.
Every step seemed more than I could possibly take. But, He said go. I took each step. I remember some of them. The ones where I told my foot "move" and He moved it because I couldn't. I prayed over and over "You said do it, help me through it". He didn't need the reminder but I did.
Today I wore mascara for the first time in a week. When I woke up this morning I knew the steps would be easier. I thought about walking on water. I thought about how some days, you step out of the boat and are swallowed by the waves. I thought about other days when you step out of the boat and stay dry for a moment. One day I will step out of the boat and fly.
I'm sitting in the place where my heart felt more pain than I thought was possible. I'm sitting here hours, minutes, and seconds away from that pain and I'm rejoicing. My Father said go and I went. He moved heaven and earth to comfort me.
And the greatest thing is, while He was comforting me He was orchestrating a million other rescues, blessings, healings,comfortings. I am only an example. He will do even more wonderful things for you. I hope I get to watch. I want to see the miracles He works in the lives of everyone.
I'm sitting here in expectation of wonder and awe praising the creator of the universe who loves us!
Monday, May 2, 2011
Holding Him
How much easier would it have been just to keep holding him? So many days I dreamed of his future, dreamed of his little crooked smile hopping off a dirt bike. I could see him throwing off the helmet in disgust and then grinning when he saw me watching him. The impish glint in his eyes giving away the pleasure he felt in being noticed. Then he would tell me all about the ride.
How much easier would it have been to just keep holding him? Late at night when it’s just the two of us and he reaches over with the big wide mouth kisses. The nights we argued for hours about his going to sleep so I would have a chance of functioning in the morning. How much easier would it be to just keep rocking him? The old recliner clicking with each push, the minutes falling over each other in sleep fog. How much easier would it be?
It’s not a question of love. It’s not easy to understand. The decision hurts as badly as any I could think of making, and yet. Yet, He says this is what we will do. In the moments when my heart is being torn through the layers of bone built to protect it, I feel His peace. When the tears fight for space in the corners of my eyes and there are no words to express how I feel, I can hear the still small voice.
In my doubt He sends a messenger. The messenger is compelled to tell me what I need to hear. The funny thing is, she has no idea what she is saying. I can see the places where she is trying to make sense of the message and I tell her it is ok. The message is heard. This is what He would have me do.
Then I think of Abraham. I see him climbing the mountain, tears rolling silently down his cheeks. I wear my sunglasses to hide the tears from my girls. Did he wear his prayer shawl pulled tight? Faith in God does not keep the tears from falling. Grief happens. It overwhelms us, wraps itself around us. When we think we’ve left it behind, it sneaks around the corners of our minds and whispers words of longing. Then the comfort comes. Sometimes the miracles are not grand rescues. Quite often the miracles come in the form of a friend’s comment that makes the next step possible.
And then there is the top of the mountain. The moment when the knife is drawn and you are waiting, begging to hear “stop”. And it doesn’t come. There is no word. No way to stop until it is done. Abraham heard it but God isn’t asking me to take a life. He’s asking me to save a life. He's telling me to step out in faith that His way is right. Sunglasses can’t hide the anguish and of course, God knows no matter how hard I try to hide.
In the middle of mourning, a glimpse of the joy peeks around the corner of my mind. I think of the mother who will get the phone call. I can almost see her face as the worker tells her “We have a baby for you”. Her mind starts racing. She calls her husband and tells him. Maybe this time it will work. Maybe this is the son we have prayed for. Maybe he is the one we have waited for. Peace comes then.
We have done our job. It was such a hard job but it will soon be done. Now we start the walk down the mountain. We walk in the peace and joy of the Lord. We will miss him. We will miss his kisses, his patty cakes. We won’t ever forget that stubborn streak that drove us crazy but probably kept him alive in awful circumstances. Maybe his real parents will send us cards every once in awhile. Maybe we’ll run into him in the store. We will pray for him no matter what. One day, maybe, he’ll ask about his life and his parents will say ‘you were loved so much’. Maybe. I’ll remember holding him. Holding him in deep silent hours of the night when it’s just the two of us and he smiles that crooked smile.
How much easier would it have been to just keep holding him? Late at night when it’s just the two of us and he reaches over with the big wide mouth kisses. The nights we argued for hours about his going to sleep so I would have a chance of functioning in the morning. How much easier would it be to just keep rocking him? The old recliner clicking with each push, the minutes falling over each other in sleep fog. How much easier would it be?
It’s not a question of love. It’s not easy to understand. The decision hurts as badly as any I could think of making, and yet. Yet, He says this is what we will do. In the moments when my heart is being torn through the layers of bone built to protect it, I feel His peace. When the tears fight for space in the corners of my eyes and there are no words to express how I feel, I can hear the still small voice.
In my doubt He sends a messenger. The messenger is compelled to tell me what I need to hear. The funny thing is, she has no idea what she is saying. I can see the places where she is trying to make sense of the message and I tell her it is ok. The message is heard. This is what He would have me do.
Then I think of Abraham. I see him climbing the mountain, tears rolling silently down his cheeks. I wear my sunglasses to hide the tears from my girls. Did he wear his prayer shawl pulled tight? Faith in God does not keep the tears from falling. Grief happens. It overwhelms us, wraps itself around us. When we think we’ve left it behind, it sneaks around the corners of our minds and whispers words of longing. Then the comfort comes. Sometimes the miracles are not grand rescues. Quite often the miracles come in the form of a friend’s comment that makes the next step possible.
And then there is the top of the mountain. The moment when the knife is drawn and you are waiting, begging to hear “stop”. And it doesn’t come. There is no word. No way to stop until it is done. Abraham heard it but God isn’t asking me to take a life. He’s asking me to save a life. He's telling me to step out in faith that His way is right. Sunglasses can’t hide the anguish and of course, God knows no matter how hard I try to hide.
In the middle of mourning, a glimpse of the joy peeks around the corner of my mind. I think of the mother who will get the phone call. I can almost see her face as the worker tells her “We have a baby for you”. Her mind starts racing. She calls her husband and tells him. Maybe this time it will work. Maybe this is the son we have prayed for. Maybe he is the one we have waited for. Peace comes then.
We have done our job. It was such a hard job but it will soon be done. Now we start the walk down the mountain. We walk in the peace and joy of the Lord. We will miss him. We will miss his kisses, his patty cakes. We won’t ever forget that stubborn streak that drove us crazy but probably kept him alive in awful circumstances. Maybe his real parents will send us cards every once in awhile. Maybe we’ll run into him in the store. We will pray for him no matter what. One day, maybe, he’ll ask about his life and his parents will say ‘you were loved so much’. Maybe. I’ll remember holding him. Holding him in deep silent hours of the night when it’s just the two of us and he smiles that crooked smile.