Sometimes our hearts cry out for relief and do not find solace. Injustice abounds and our foundations crumble. Death attacks. Sickness prevails. Pain swells and crushes in the most devastating ways. Friends abandon us in our grief. We lick our wounds as they become infected and long for a kind word to heal our broken hearts. If we are lucky, a friend listens and does not try to provide a solution. The kindest action they take is to offer a shoulder for our tears.
For those of you who live wonderful, happy lives, I truly celebrate your innocence. Maybe you don't know how it feels to experience loss, but the majority of us live in a world full of sadness and struggle. The headline suddenly becomes about us and not a stranger. We are peppered with questions while we struggle to respond because we are still sorting through our feelings. This is all the more prescient to me this week as it was announced that a co-worker's sister was the victim of a murder suicide. What comfort is there when our beloved is taken from us in such a violent way?
Pastors walk these uncharted waters daily. They navigate channels littered with skeletons and landmines. They carry the burdens, salve the wounds, and then try to go to sleep at night with knowledge of the unholy. The rest of us fumble and stretch our brains trying to cope. And when the words won't come, we groan.
This week I am thinking about my old pastor, Dave. He spoke into my life at a time when I thought my world was ending. In fact, life as I knew it did end. I reached the death of who I was and became who I am now. My how my life has changed! This refining by fire was necessary because it forced me to lean on a God I will never fully understand or comprehend. He proved himself faithful even when I was faithless.
Often times we search for the answers we want to hear and reject the path before us. We are like my dog, Tank, straining at the leash, flopping, flailing and trying to break free because we do not want to go that way. The train is too big, too loud, and too close. We feel we cannot safely walk beneath it. But God gently leads us under the trestle because He knows it is safe. He sees the bridge over the creek where we will find relief. He gently urges us forward and is careful not to trip over our wobbly legs. He takes our "I can't" and says, kindly, "Try."
If I look at my circumstances I get lost in the enormity of my struggles. There are all these problems I can't solve, situations I have no control over, and people I love who I can't heal. I look at myself and realize, "I'm just a girl, living on a broken planet, with other broken people. What can I do?" I look at my sweet and beautiful grandmother, broken with arthritis, Parkinson's disease and well advanced in years. But I remember her strong arms around me when I was a child. I remember being tired and fearful but safe as she held me to her heart. I remember blackberry stained hands, and an indomitable spirit that laughed so easily. She told me recently, "I've lived a good and happy life." Ruby has enriched my life with joy and gladness. She has taught me to live my life in such a way that I too enrich the lives of others with kindness.
Today if you are hurting, rest easy. Take heart. Rest your cheek on a friend's shoulder. If you are a follower of Jesus, turn your eyes to Him and ask for help.
"He stands fast as your rock, steadfast as your safeguard, sleepless as your watcher, valiant as your champion." - Charles H. Spurgeon.
And then go for a walk! Experience the beauty of nature. Step away from your sorrow if you can and set your eyes on the heavens.
Last night I found myself in Pershall Park again. It is my new place of refuge and relief. I sat on a bench and stared at the brilliant blue sky and fluffy white clouds. Birch trees swayed over the path, and we snuck a peek at the apple trees laden with fruit. It is my new place of peace. I listened to my children laughing as they played. I watched them run.
We have an opportunity to set our eyes on what is true. We can choose to look away from our sorrows and see beauty. In the midst of pain and suffering we can instead fix our gazes on the babbling brook, the smiling dog, and the scribbled hearts of a five year old on a scrap of paper given in love. In such choices we find our pain lessened, our hearts soothed and our minds eased. And we learn grace is not just an adjective, but a verb.
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