The season is changing. Temperatures are slowly dropping and by slowly I mean ssslllooowwwlllyyy but it isn’t 95 degrees anymore (consistently anyway). Target has Halloween costumes on isle 6 and enough candy to single handedly give diabetes to very child in America on isle 7. Costco is selling a giant blow up Santa Clause already and I think I saw life sized porcelain Wise Men but they startled me so I speed past. Because really…3 men in the front yard won’t bring Christmas cheer to me…it just won’t.
So I apathetically walk my way to the milk and grab a free sample of *something* the kind lady said was not fried, all though the vegetable oil was still in plain view, and oh my I’m so glad I let her lie to me. De-lish.
I run into a cart of mums (literally run into because they are in the middle of the isle, who PUT them there. Ugh.) that are enormous and bold in color and yet I am so unimpressed I never lose a step…I whisper to myself, “This is so unlike you.” a wave of emotion…warmness fills my face, tears are welling and I recognize this all too well.
Not sadness over one thing but over a million. The day in and day out of a crushed spirit. The soaking in of world chaos and schedules lacking grace.
And not the kind that puts you in the bed unable to face the day. Or the kind that overtakes your thoughts and leaves you paralyzed in agony. Not the kind that races your heart and grips your throat with anxiety. No, not that kind, Praise You Lord. That’s called depression and I’ve been there. I mourned a great loss years ago and it almost swallowed me whole... But God…
So not that…but rather just no ability to see the painted sky as a masterpiece displayed just for me. Or to hear my favorite song on the radio, roll the windows down and stretch a hand high through the sunroof catching the wind. To hear the squirrels running across the yard and not stop to watch them race up the tree or gaze as birds fly. To stop sneaking into my sleeping children's rooms late at night just to bend the knee in thanksgiving. Or to place a hand over the tiny heart and marvel at the perfect rhythm of the drum. The wonder and mystery of it all that normally woos me in to my Maker…the details are becoming blurry.
Temporarily underwhelmed...a dangerous place to be. It brings long days of silence between me and my God and it steals my joy like a thief I invited into my home.
She reaches her hand across the seat and our fingers braid into each other. She whispers, “Mommy will you please pray for me? I have a math test and I’m scared. I need to hear you ask God for help.” She closes her eyes and lays across my arm squeezing my hand tightly as if to cue my words.
How does a mother say no to that? I softly call out to the God who gave her breath, interceding with humility and faith. It bridges the gap…I feel the fog lift. Her need for God is my Devine appointment and I’m so thankful to not have missed it. She needed to hear it and I needed to speak it... words that fall on Holy ears mend.
Hours of pounding on a keyboard, writing to God, realizing we had some business to discuss… things I had let fester, exposing my doubts, crying out for the broken. Pages of The Word flipping once again through my responsive hands... soul stirring, light igniting, joy abounding, communication free flowing.
It happens to us, Christians…we waver. We can cover it up and carry on but God reads our hearts not our reputations. We grow weary, we wrestle, we doubt, we seek, we wonder, but it’s the reconciliation of the return…THAT is the great Hope. The never ending, never fading, never changing, always embracing, Love of The Father.
The season indeed is inwardly changing.
I cry out loudly to God. Loudly I plea with God for Mercy. I spill out all my complaints to Him. I spell out all my troubles in detail.
2 Corinthians 1:3
All praise to God the Father of all Mercy. God of all healing counsel. He comes alongside us when we go through hard times...