He answers my mumbled "I can't" with a "You're right" and I stop in my tracks.
I'm right?
"Yes," He whispers holding my overwhelmed gaze in His loving eyes. "You can't because otherwise it would mean nothing that I can."
Not quite sure He understands, I try to assert my case with a desperate "I'm not enough." I show Him my laundry list: not strong enough, not patient enough, not wise enough, not creative enough, not able enough, not caring enough, not together enough.
Gentler still, He breathes the words right into the middle of me, where my fear and self-doubt live. "You're right, you're not. You're not enough because otherwise it would mean nothing that I am."
Tuesday 23 June 2015
Deliverer (Psalm 34:4)
Papa, I cannot imagine being set free from my fear. I can read the words, repeat the promises, and sing the songs, but I don't know how to believe that you are my Deliverer.
Monday 22 June 2015
My Morning (Psalm 30:5 & Psalm 34:5)
The rhythm of the rain outside my window is my alarm clock this morning. In my stupor it sounds like clapping and I am oddly relieved. The gray skies are clapping their sarcastic applause. Perfect, I agree. A miserable soggy day is in order for me, a failure.
It's the morning after the night that ended with silence, my mess uglier than I want to put into words. Uglier than I want to put into words in front of him. And he knows it. He prods gently with such care but I shut him out. It's too much and I'm too tired, I tell myself. I'm fine, really, I tell him. But how many times in ten years have I avoided his eyes?
And that night came on the heels of another, where I collapsed in a heap knowing I had just barely made it through another day. A day of hearing my floundering in the sounds of every whining, complaining heap of child on the floor. Of watching my defeat in hitting hands and kicking feet. Of seeing my not-enough in the sounds of shutting down, shutting out, and shutting doors. It's all I can do not to shut my eyes and shut my heart.
It's the morning after and the morning after the morning after. And sometimes it doesn't look any better than the night before. Or the night before. Or the one before.
He says joy comes in the morning. He whispers it this time. Whispers it to my morning that is begging for a reason to rebel. My morning that balks at Him, daring Him to defy Himself.
Except that it isn't.
At least not entirely.
Underneath its disheveled hair and disheartened spirits, my morning longs to taste and see that He is good and true and loving and here. My morning, my afternoon, my evening, and my night. All of me wants to know all of Him.
All of me wants to know this God who hears me when I cry. Who is near when I am broken-hearted. Who redeems me when I am desolate. Who made my heart such that He can strengthen it. Who makes me radiant when I am ashamed.
This God who is teaching me day by day and hour by hour that I am weak, fallible, and inadequate on purpose. By His very design I am made to be whole only in Him. By His very design I am made to experience fullness in my dependence on Him.
If my weakness is not only my weakness but also His strength, is it even my weakness at all? How great is my God!
It's the morning after the night that ended with silence, my mess uglier than I want to put into words. Uglier than I want to put into words in front of him. And he knows it. He prods gently with such care but I shut him out. It's too much and I'm too tired, I tell myself. I'm fine, really, I tell him. But how many times in ten years have I avoided his eyes?
And that night came on the heels of another, where I collapsed in a heap knowing I had just barely made it through another day. A day of hearing my floundering in the sounds of every whining, complaining heap of child on the floor. Of watching my defeat in hitting hands and kicking feet. Of seeing my not-enough in the sounds of shutting down, shutting out, and shutting doors. It's all I can do not to shut my eyes and shut my heart.
It's the morning after and the morning after the morning after. And sometimes it doesn't look any better than the night before. Or the night before. Or the one before.
He says joy comes in the morning. He whispers it this time. Whispers it to my morning that is begging for a reason to rebel. My morning that balks at Him, daring Him to defy Himself.
Except that it isn't.
At least not entirely.
Underneath its disheveled hair and disheartened spirits, my morning longs to taste and see that He is good and true and loving and here. My morning, my afternoon, my evening, and my night. All of me wants to know all of Him.
All of me wants to know this God who hears me when I cry. Who is near when I am broken-hearted. Who redeems me when I am desolate. Who made my heart such that He can strengthen it. Who makes me radiant when I am ashamed.
This God who is teaching me day by day and hour by hour that I am weak, fallible, and inadequate on purpose. By His very design I am made to be whole only in Him. By His very design I am made to experience fullness in my dependence on Him.
If my weakness is not only my weakness but also His strength, is it even my weakness at all? How great is my God!
Thursday 11 June 2015
Pip
I feel you
though your hair escapes my touch
I see you
only in the periphery
vanishing when I try to focus
You live in my dreams of night and day
my moments of distraction
my deep hopeful corners
my reflexes and instincts
But you don't live at the table for supper
in the backseat of the van
or amongst the cars that drive across the carpet
Yet
though your hair escapes my touch
I see you
only in the periphery
vanishing when I try to focus
You live in my dreams of night and day
my moments of distraction
my deep hopeful corners
my reflexes and instincts
But you don't live at the table for supper
in the backseat of the van
or amongst the cars that drive across the carpet
Yet
Tuesday 9 June 2015
Missing my marriage (4)
Because I never want to fall asleep without his body cradling mine.
In an effort to love him outwardly as I do inwardly:
Today I will kiss him slowly.
Tomorrow I will remind him of what a great dad he is. And I will kiss him slowly.
This week I will encourage him to have time for himself. And I will kiss him slowly.
Friday 5 June 2015
Mire (Psalm 42)
Tears wrung out from this dry and thirsty soul. Memories of the less mundane breed longing for more of His greatness.
While soul sulks, truth speaks still. Pages crisp lined with words ancient. He is faithful.
The mire of my everyday coexists with the faithfulness of my God. In a fleeting moment of beholding Him, the barrier begins to crumble and the two seep into each other. My messy and my God, like oil and water, seemingly incompatible. Until I behold Him a little more. And then a little more.
Two are steadily but oh-so-slowly becoming one and the ground is fertile with possibilities. Hope sprouts, joy germinates, peace pokes a hesitant tendril from mucky mire.
While soul sulks, truth speaks still. Pages crisp lined with words ancient. He is faithful.
The mire of my everyday coexists with the faithfulness of my God. In a fleeting moment of beholding Him, the barrier begins to crumble and the two seep into each other. My messy and my God, like oil and water, seemingly incompatible. Until I behold Him a little more. And then a little more.
Two are steadily but oh-so-slowly becoming one and the ground is fertile with possibilities. Hope sprouts, joy germinates, peace pokes a hesitant tendril from mucky mire.
Tuesday 2 June 2015
Voice (Psalm 95:7)
My first reaction to the words speaks to the condition of my fragile heart. Today, if you will hear His voice. Oh Lord, You are right. So often I forget to listen and I miss Your whispers, Your truths, Your delight, Your glory. I am sorry. I want to hear, I really want to hear. Today I will try, Lord. I hope. But it's so hard, when everything around me speaks so loudly. It's so hard to tune in to Your voice. I am sorry that I disappoint You. And so sorry for what I miss out on.
I say the words back to Him, adoring Him for who He is. Thank you for being the God who lets me choose to hear His voice. Wait a minute. If I climb up out of the guilt, there might be more to this. You are the God who makes hearing His voice an option for me. You created me, I am one of Your projects. You who are great. Whose hands hold the depths of the earth. Whose strength is higher than the hills. Whose magnitude surpasses the seas. Whose hands moulded dry land.
You are the God who makes hearing His voice an option for me. You, in all Your greatness, have formed me. And invited me into relationship. Shaped my heart and breathed life, life that is separate from Your greatness, yet with the capacity to hear the voice of its Maker.
Thank you for being that God. My God who made me able to hear His voice. Made hearing Your voice an option for me.
I will say Your truths back to You. Sing them until they change my heart of flesh. Hide them in my heart until those words, that voice are my first instinct to hear. How could I long to hear anything else?
I say the words back to Him, adoring Him for who He is. Thank you for being the God who lets me choose to hear His voice. Wait a minute. If I climb up out of the guilt, there might be more to this. You are the God who makes hearing His voice an option for me. You created me, I am one of Your projects. You who are great. Whose hands hold the depths of the earth. Whose strength is higher than the hills. Whose magnitude surpasses the seas. Whose hands moulded dry land.
You are the God who makes hearing His voice an option for me. You, in all Your greatness, have formed me. And invited me into relationship. Shaped my heart and breathed life, life that is separate from Your greatness, yet with the capacity to hear the voice of its Maker.
Thank you for being that God. My God who made me able to hear His voice. Made hearing Your voice an option for me.
I will say Your truths back to You. Sing them until they change my heart of flesh. Hide them in my heart until those words, that voice are my first instinct to hear. How could I long to hear anything else?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)