They say a picture is worth a thousand words. These images then spell out a lot. (toggle right)
My last post ended abruptly. Like maybe I was too sad to continue. I don’t want that to be the take away. Don’t look at these images and feel sad. I want for anyone following along to feel what we have felt more than anything: and that is A W A K E N E D.
That is the primary feeling, but I guess, by it’s very nature, that realization reveals some grief then too.
There comes a point when we come to the end of ourselves that we allow God to finally step in. To bring us out of our stupor as it were. To stop us from sleep walking.
This whole past year has been a testament of that for us. Through the biggest trial of our lives, we’ve seen and felt and heard a very real God like never before.
That truth rings deep into my core, but man, the words still sound so frustratingly cliche. Makes me keep erasing it—trying to find words that compel the gravity, the aching, the questioning, the pain. In crisis we heard Him. Isn’t that so typical. It took a crisis. Otherwise, we’re too busy and too noisy and too distracted.
I believe in brave vulnerability, so i’ll write it out as best I can. ... I enter into this Christmas season with a dread and a sadness I never expected. As crazy as it sounds i’m grieving right now— at a time I never expected to... Grieving for a year my son will never get back. Grieving for what has been asked of him. Of us. Grieving for the wrenching open and laying bare. BUT, the dread is this: I’m also a little hesitant to leave it behind. Hesitant for 2019. Even as I type it out it makes me shake my head.
What happened last Christmas set us up for a year that was crazy difficult, heart-wrenching, and agonizing. It revealed a marriage built on a house of cards, a build project that was taking precedence over what it shouldn’t, a toxic financial investment bleeding us dry. Within 6 weeks everything, on every level, came crashing down and there was no pretending any more. We did the only thing we could do. We hit our knees. Fully, utterly surrendered. Without a shred of semblance of control: we just listened. Finally.
What happened last Christmas set us up for a year that was more rich and sweet and beautiful that almost every year before it. I experienced more of God in 2018 than I ever have. That intimacy filled me with awe and hope and peace. I have such torn emotions leaving this year behind. Like will I continue to feel that sweet spot? Or will I get inevitably caught up in the crushing whirlpool that is life in 21st century America? And then this unsettling theological questions rears up: To experience the on-going intimacy with Him that I long for, must I continue to experience this kind of pain? The journey isn’t over, my heart is still raw, my memories so fresh, the flashbacks constant. Though my spirit is desperate to press in to Him, there is a hesitancy. What will it cost me? I feel caught in the middle of two repelling magnets.
But I am reminded, gently but firmly, in a myriad of ways, that God is not relegated to working in us only through pain. There is a time and a season for it all. I don’t know what is around the bend, if it’s better or worse. Maybe the next season is, again, something I can’t fathom.
But if there is more pain. If the other shoe does drop. Then... what.
This awakening brings me to this: that whatever life brings, the Constant that I know to be True doesn’t change. I need not be hesitant. I know what to expect. I know what He will do. He will simply continue to make beauty out of the ashes. That is who He is.
Those poles of the magnets I hover between shift, and as I lean in, I accept this Freudian thought with no more hesitation. I am ready for this next year … whatever it brings.
