dear rory,
sometimes I amaze myself...
I am really good at giving advice.
I mean, not to "toot my own horn", but
HONK HONK.
I always know how to handle situations...
unless it's my own.
***
yesterday Pastor talked about the Israelites.
as he recounted their repeated complaints, I felt myself almost squirming with contempt.
those idiots.
one minute, they're marching out of slavery towards a land that was promised to their forefathers by God Almighty. the next minute, they're watching God pound the waters of the Red Sea over the heads of one of the most powerful armies in the world. and the next minute...
they're thirsty.
hold the camels.
we had better turn around and offer ourselves as slaves in Egypt again. sure things weren't always easy there- our sons were being killed, we were worked almost to death under the boiling hot, desert sun, and our Pharaoh despised us.
but at least we weren't thirsty.
good thing God has more patience than I do. instead of striking them all down as I might have, God commanded Moses to strike a rock.
and what do you know? the God of miracles performed a miracle. out of the rock came water.
***
Sunday after church I had a long talk with a friend.
I found myself giving advice.
because I'm so good at that.
I was in the middle of saying something about not letting hard times make us bitter or angry-that God has a reason for the trials- when I stopped. I heard something quiet. I think it was God laughing.
***
you may remember that back in the winter, I was confined to a hospital room for several days and that I wasn't happy about it.
what you probably don't know is that while I was pouting in the hospital, God was preparing to show me that I too am an Israelite...
the hospital cart rolled down hallway after hallway. I watched people's faces as I rolled past. they were giving me a look that I had given many a time to strangers in hospital beds. the look of "I wonder if you are about to die." it's an easy look to accidentally give, but a harder one to receive. it made me want to make a monkey face at them. but I was tired, so I just stared blankly back, probably confirming their saddest imaginings.
the cart reached Destination MRI waiting room, and I said goodbye to my family and Laura. they smiled. I smiled.
but I was scared as anything. and I was angry. and bitter. where was God taking me? I just wanted to be comfortable again.
I looked up at the man wheeling me to the MRI room.
"don't be afraid," he said.
"there are a lot of friends praying for me," I answered. because that sounded like the right answer. he probably didn't want to hear my bitterness and anger.
but God saw my heart. and God struck a rock.
"I'll be praying for you too," the man said.
I licked up that drip of water and let it sink into my heart a second before being helped into the room and asked to lie down on a bench-like table.
"will my iPod be able to play during the scan?" I asked an older nurse.
"sure!" he said and smiled. he took my iPod and hooked it up to a device that would send the music through my protective mask during the hour and a half procedure.
I looked back at the cave I would be trapped in and took a deep breath. my claustrophobia isn't a huge fan of caves. especially hospital caves.
but then I was in. I heard the first few notes from my music come through...
followed by ceaseless hammering. I couldn't hear my music due to the hammering of the machine I was trapped in.
at first, I was fine. but forty minutes into it, I was feeling almost frantic. and I was feeling miserable for myself again. poor, poor me.
As the thunder rolls, I barely hear You whisper through the rain, "I am with you".
the hammering had stopped. "Praise You in this Storm" by Chris Tomlin filled my ears instead.
I will praise You in this storm. I will lift my head. You are who You are, no matter where I am.
Moses was beating at that rock. and water was gushing out.
And every tear I cry, You hold in Your hand. You've never left my side.
the hammering didn't start again...
And though my heart is torn, I will praise You in this storm.
... until the song had ended. then it continued without ceasing until I was taken out.
***
God was still gently laughing.
Pastor was still preaching.
and I was still an Israelite.
I watched the sun setting through my friend's eyelashes, as I heard the advice come from my own hypocritical lips.
you see, in the past few weeks, I have fallen into an angry and bitter net once again. I'm not sick this time. I'm struggling to forgive.
I have let hurt turn into bitterness. and I have let sadness turn into anger towards God.
do you know, I actually thought to myself for a moment that it would be rather nice not to have to worry about God and His commands? (please gasp here.) do you know, I actually thought to myself that maybe I would be better off without Him since He doesn't seem to care anyways? (please gasp louder here)
in other words...
"God, I am thirsty. why have You brought me here? it would be better for me to march back to Egypt and become a slave again."
*face palm*
***
my struggle continues even as I type these words. is it possible that I still feel angry?
I am an Israelite at heart.
I am wandering through the wilderness. the unknowns and hardships scare me. lately, it doesn't seem to matter that what I am leaving behind me isn't worth returning to. it doesn't seem to matter that what God is leading me towards is worth dying for.
lately, I just don't like being thirsty. but I also don't like being an Israelite.
because I know deep down that God is the only one who can gush those thirst-quenching waters at me. He can bring healing. from a lifeless rock. to a hurting heart.
***
looking at my friend, I suddenly stopped giving advice and asked her to pray for me.
"I'll be praying for you too," I promised.
as I hugged her, I realized...
we're all Israelites. we're making this journey towards the "promised land" together. it's rough. it's rocky. it stinks at times.
but we have left our slavery to sin behind us. we are marching, walking, sometimes inching our way on our bellies towards the end goal.
we fall. we thirst. we fail.
God catches. God quenches. God in His mercy forgives.
I lift my eyes unto the hills,
where does my help come from?
my help comes from the Lord,
the Maker of Heaven and earth.
please pray. I'm praying for you, my fellow marchers, as well.
love,
muffin
Showing posts with label trust. Show all posts
Showing posts with label trust. Show all posts
6.11.12
4.3.12
thoughts from a crazy person
dear rory,
this is going to be a highly un-polished letter, so please forgive me now. I am so tired, but I wanted to share a conversation I had with my grandma tonight. maybe it will somehow be as much of a reminder to you as it was to me. and if not... if you already knew all of this stuff... then uh... sorry. I am a slow learner sometimes.
the conversation went like this:
“so do you have any questions YOU want to ask the doctor tomorrow?” my grandma looked at me from across the kitchen table, pen in hand, with a list of questions her and my mother had already written lying before her. the questions included what my new diet would consist of, how long it would take until full recovery, what physical exercises I should be doing, and a lot of other medical things that I had tuned out while pretending to listen.
I started back to reality at my grandma’s voice. my first impulse was to answer her jokingly by saying, “yeah, ask the doctor if we can include chocolate in the diet somehow.”
instead I thought (you heard that right. please be impressed by this rare occassion ;).
DID I have any questions?
“I have a question,” I finally replied, “but it’s more for you than for the doctor.”
she raised her eyebrows in anticipation and set down her pen.
“do you think this doctor will take me seriously? most doctors have started out their sessions almost as if they think I am making everything up. by the end of the appointment, I can tell they believe me, but those first few minutes of being treated like a liar or a child are humiliating.”
my own voice surprised me. it sounded shaky as though I were about to cry.
my grandma was quiet for a moment. “renee,” she said at last, “do you ever gage people and their opinions by percentage?”
“what do you mean?”
“I mean that if somebody said that he had heard that balancing ten plates on your head will cure you of a disease, what would you rank your belief in that statement percentage wise? would you give that 2% of your trust? what if you heard from a more reliable source all about a treatment that had been found to cure most cases of that disease? Would you give that 60% of your trust?”
I was still feeling mystified.
“renee. give God 100% of your trust. if the doctor doesn’t believe you or your symptoms at first, don’t let that drag you down. know that God, who made you, knows what is wrong and has the ability to heal you. let Him be your rock. don’t rest solely upon what others say or think about your sickness. don’t rest solely upon others opinions. rest upon God. God knows.”
I thought about this for a moment. during the past few weeks, I have been feeling like maybe I’m crazy. I know that something is wrong with my body- staying in bed and hanging out on the couch all day is enough indication that something is not right- but what with my test results coming back normal, I have been feeling, yes, grateful, but also phony. thoughts have kept slipping into my mind making me doubt myself. making me feel like maybe I’ve just been being a big baby and if I could just get my act together, I would be better in no time.
and yet the truth is, I am not well. I feel happier in spirit than I did a week or two ago, but tonight my legs began hurting again like crazy and my right foot went all tingly. I am weak. I am tired. my vision is blurry. something is wrong, but nobody knows what.
I have faced many critical doctors, and I feel more worn out with each one. this morning I told my dad that if anyone at church said something about me faking this or just wanting attention I would start crying. (just so you know, nobody did. I love you all.) I have started ranking people’s opinions at a high percentage rate, and I’ve been letting my own doubts get to me. I have stopped looking to God for 100% of all the strength, comfort, and support I need. and doing that has left me feeling empty.
I need to find my refuge in the Creator-not the created.
my grandma’s words struck me hard. I felt as though a burden was lifted, no, knocked off my shoulders. suddenly I remembered that no matter what happens, no matter how long I am sick, no matter if the doctors ever find what is wrong, no matter what others may say, I can rest in knowing that God knows all about what I am feeling, what is going on in my body, why this is happening, and how it will resolve. He’s got it under control, even if all the doctors in the world don’t. even if I feel crazy. even if some may think I’m crazy.
I looked back into my grandma’s eyes and tried to keep the tears out of my own.
“I think I had forgotten that,” I said. “thank you for reminding me.”
she went on to pray for me. praying that I would put on the full armor of God and that I would trust Him and look to Him alone.
and now here I am in bed. writing this all out, because I am a dunce and would forget most of the conversation by morning.
I don’t want to forget this conversation. I want to remember it.
if I could just stop forgetting how awesome God is, I would be a lot better off! maybe I’ll make a sign with the words “Come on you big dummy! Remember that God is in control” written backwards on it, tape it to my forehead, and carry a mirror around with me to look into and remind myself.
of course, then I would be giving the doctors a good reason to think I’m crazy. ;)
well, I’m off to dream world.
nightynight,
muffin
ps- I just have to say thank you, thank you, thank you to my dear friends who have been praying for me. I love you all and I appreciate the prayers more than you know.
pps- no one send me any more chocolate. I can't eat it and watching others eat it... well... it's just not fun. ;)
ppps- maybe my next post should be on the joy of seeing others happy? ......... nahhhh.
this is going to be a highly un-polished letter, so please forgive me now. I am so tired, but I wanted to share a conversation I had with my grandma tonight. maybe it will somehow be as much of a reminder to you as it was to me. and if not... if you already knew all of this stuff... then uh... sorry. I am a slow learner sometimes.
the conversation went like this:
“so do you have any questions YOU want to ask the doctor tomorrow?” my grandma looked at me from across the kitchen table, pen in hand, with a list of questions her and my mother had already written lying before her. the questions included what my new diet would consist of, how long it would take until full recovery, what physical exercises I should be doing, and a lot of other medical things that I had tuned out while pretending to listen.
I started back to reality at my grandma’s voice. my first impulse was to answer her jokingly by saying, “yeah, ask the doctor if we can include chocolate in the diet somehow.”
instead I thought (you heard that right. please be impressed by this rare occassion ;).
DID I have any questions?
“I have a question,” I finally replied, “but it’s more for you than for the doctor.”
she raised her eyebrows in anticipation and set down her pen.
“do you think this doctor will take me seriously? most doctors have started out their sessions almost as if they think I am making everything up. by the end of the appointment, I can tell they believe me, but those first few minutes of being treated like a liar or a child are humiliating.”
my own voice surprised me. it sounded shaky as though I were about to cry.
my grandma was quiet for a moment. “renee,” she said at last, “do you ever gage people and their opinions by percentage?”
“what do you mean?”
“I mean that if somebody said that he had heard that balancing ten plates on your head will cure you of a disease, what would you rank your belief in that statement percentage wise? would you give that 2% of your trust? what if you heard from a more reliable source all about a treatment that had been found to cure most cases of that disease? Would you give that 60% of your trust?”
I was still feeling mystified.
“renee. give God 100% of your trust. if the doctor doesn’t believe you or your symptoms at first, don’t let that drag you down. know that God, who made you, knows what is wrong and has the ability to heal you. let Him be your rock. don’t rest solely upon what others say or think about your sickness. don’t rest solely upon others opinions. rest upon God. God knows.”
I thought about this for a moment. during the past few weeks, I have been feeling like maybe I’m crazy. I know that something is wrong with my body- staying in bed and hanging out on the couch all day is enough indication that something is not right- but what with my test results coming back normal, I have been feeling, yes, grateful, but also phony. thoughts have kept slipping into my mind making me doubt myself. making me feel like maybe I’ve just been being a big baby and if I could just get my act together, I would be better in no time.
and yet the truth is, I am not well. I feel happier in spirit than I did a week or two ago, but tonight my legs began hurting again like crazy and my right foot went all tingly. I am weak. I am tired. my vision is blurry. something is wrong, but nobody knows what.
I have faced many critical doctors, and I feel more worn out with each one. this morning I told my dad that if anyone at church said something about me faking this or just wanting attention I would start crying. (just so you know, nobody did. I love you all.) I have started ranking people’s opinions at a high percentage rate, and I’ve been letting my own doubts get to me. I have stopped looking to God for 100% of all the strength, comfort, and support I need. and doing that has left me feeling empty.
I need to find my refuge in the Creator-not the created.
my grandma’s words struck me hard. I felt as though a burden was lifted, no, knocked off my shoulders. suddenly I remembered that no matter what happens, no matter how long I am sick, no matter if the doctors ever find what is wrong, no matter what others may say, I can rest in knowing that God knows all about what I am feeling, what is going on in my body, why this is happening, and how it will resolve. He’s got it under control, even if all the doctors in the world don’t. even if I feel crazy. even if some may think I’m crazy.
I looked back into my grandma’s eyes and tried to keep the tears out of my own.
“I think I had forgotten that,” I said. “thank you for reminding me.”
she went on to pray for me. praying that I would put on the full armor of God and that I would trust Him and look to Him alone.
and now here I am in bed. writing this all out, because I am a dunce and would forget most of the conversation by morning.
I don’t want to forget this conversation. I want to remember it.
if I could just stop forgetting how awesome God is, I would be a lot better off! maybe I’ll make a sign with the words “Come on you big dummy! Remember that God is in control” written backwards on it, tape it to my forehead, and carry a mirror around with me to look into and remind myself.
of course, then I would be giving the doctors a good reason to think I’m crazy. ;)
well, I’m off to dream world.
nightynight,
muffin
ps- I just have to say thank you, thank you, thank you to my dear friends who have been praying for me. I love you all and I appreciate the prayers more than you know.
pps- no one send me any more chocolate. I can't eat it and watching others eat it... well... it's just not fun. ;)
ppps- maybe my next post should be on the joy of seeing others happy? ......... nahhhh.
23.11.11
thanks for nothing
dear rory,
winter winds are freezing the last stubborn leaves off of trees, frantic turkeys are dodging in and out of bushes, plastic pilgrims are posing on mantelpieces, and families are getting out the measuring tapes to see just how much food they can cram onto the surface area of their dining tables.
you know what that means, don’t you? it’s almost Thanksgiving! almost time to sit around and groan after filling our bellies with turkey and mashed potatoes and gravy and stuffing and carrots and green beans and bread and pie.
my family has a tradition that after the meal is finished, we go around the table and each say something we’re thankful for. usually someone says ‘our family’ or ‘our church’ or ‘our friends’ or something along those lines.
of course, saying we are thankful for friends and family and church are all good things, great things in fact. but have you ever been thankful for what you don’t have?
a few days ago I thanked God for not shipwrecking me on a desert island. can you imagine washing ashore and not knowing if there was freshwater? not knowing if there was food? can you imagine not having anybody to talk to? not knowing if cannibals lived just beyond the next tree? not knowing if you would ever be rescued or if you would ever see your family again?
I’m also thankful that I’m not blind. I like seeing the world and everything in it. glittering leaves in the fall, mountains of snow in the winter, tiny buds of life in the spring, and tall glasses of pink lemonade in the summer all bring instant happiness to my eyes. not seeing them would be terrible. and not seeing the faces of those I love would be devastating.
another thing: I’m grateful that I don’t live in a time when forced marriages were perfectly normal. I shudder everytime I read Jane Austen and try to imagine my family forcing me to marry for riches or position instead of love. as silly as it sounds, I would almost rather be dead than be forced to marry someone.
a few more things I’m thankful for also include not living in a butterfly infested house, not eating jello for every meal, not having to live in a cardboard box, not waking up to a day of working in cotton fields, not being an Eskimo, not feeling frightened when I go to bed, not wondering if I’ll get to eat the next day, not being forced to believe something I don’t, and the list goes on and on and on.
this past year has been somewhat hard for me and my family. watching my parents stress about paying bills hasn’t really been fun. losing a sibling I didn’t even get to meet was downright painful. learning some hard lessons wasn’t exactly pleasant.
these types of issues were items that had previously been on my “thankful for not having to deal with” list. I didn’t want to go through them. at one point, I probably would have told you that I couldn’t survive having to go through them. and yet, as they came, I realized something important. something that I am extremely thankful for.
and that is this: God never gives us more than we can bear. He gives us the strength we need to make it through difficult times, through difficult situations, and through difficult relationships. And through those things, He makes us stronger and He makes us more like Him.
I can honestly say I am thankful for the hard things I've had to go through this year. that's not to say I enjoyed them. because I didn't. but God used them for His purposes, and for that I am thankful.
God is so good.
and that’s why tomorrow, when I am asked what I’m thankful for, I know what I will say:
I am thankful that God has been, is, and always will be right there with us through the good times AND the bad times.
this thanksgiving I am thankful for a bunch of 'nothings'. I am thankful that there is NOTHING that God can’t handle (Matthew 19:26). That there is NOTHING that He can’t help me through (Hebrews 13:5). I am thankful that NOTHING can seperate us from the love of Christ (Romans 8:38-39). And that there is NOTHING in heaven above or the earth below that I need to fear (Romans 8:31).
so. does that mean that even if I was a blind person shipwrecked on a desert island with my husband whom I had been forced to marry, that God would help me through that?
yep.
but for now I’m keeping that on my “thankful for not having to deal with” list. ;)
I hope you have a splendid Thanksgiving. may God bless you with many things to be thankful for.
even if they are things you never thought you could be thankful for.
love you,
muffin
winter winds are freezing the last stubborn leaves off of trees, frantic turkeys are dodging in and out of bushes, plastic pilgrims are posing on mantelpieces, and families are getting out the measuring tapes to see just how much food they can cram onto the surface area of their dining tables.
you know what that means, don’t you? it’s almost Thanksgiving! almost time to sit around and groan after filling our bellies with turkey and mashed potatoes and gravy and stuffing and carrots and green beans and bread and pie.
my family has a tradition that after the meal is finished, we go around the table and each say something we’re thankful for. usually someone says ‘our family’ or ‘our church’ or ‘our friends’ or something along those lines.
of course, saying we are thankful for friends and family and church are all good things, great things in fact. but have you ever been thankful for what you don’t have?
a few days ago I thanked God for not shipwrecking me on a desert island. can you imagine washing ashore and not knowing if there was freshwater? not knowing if there was food? can you imagine not having anybody to talk to? not knowing if cannibals lived just beyond the next tree? not knowing if you would ever be rescued or if you would ever see your family again?
I’m also thankful that I’m not blind. I like seeing the world and everything in it. glittering leaves in the fall, mountains of snow in the winter, tiny buds of life in the spring, and tall glasses of pink lemonade in the summer all bring instant happiness to my eyes. not seeing them would be terrible. and not seeing the faces of those I love would be devastating.
another thing: I’m grateful that I don’t live in a time when forced marriages were perfectly normal. I shudder everytime I read Jane Austen and try to imagine my family forcing me to marry for riches or position instead of love. as silly as it sounds, I would almost rather be dead than be forced to marry someone.
a few more things I’m thankful for also include not living in a butterfly infested house, not eating jello for every meal, not having to live in a cardboard box, not waking up to a day of working in cotton fields, not being an Eskimo, not feeling frightened when I go to bed, not wondering if I’ll get to eat the next day, not being forced to believe something I don’t, and the list goes on and on and on.
this past year has been somewhat hard for me and my family. watching my parents stress about paying bills hasn’t really been fun. losing a sibling I didn’t even get to meet was downright painful. learning some hard lessons wasn’t exactly pleasant.
these types of issues were items that had previously been on my “thankful for not having to deal with” list. I didn’t want to go through them. at one point, I probably would have told you that I couldn’t survive having to go through them. and yet, as they came, I realized something important. something that I am extremely thankful for.
and that is this: God never gives us more than we can bear. He gives us the strength we need to make it through difficult times, through difficult situations, and through difficult relationships. And through those things, He makes us stronger and He makes us more like Him.
I can honestly say I am thankful for the hard things I've had to go through this year. that's not to say I enjoyed them. because I didn't. but God used them for His purposes, and for that I am thankful.
God is so good.
and that’s why tomorrow, when I am asked what I’m thankful for, I know what I will say:
I am thankful that God has been, is, and always will be right there with us through the good times AND the bad times.
this thanksgiving I am thankful for a bunch of 'nothings'. I am thankful that there is NOTHING that God can’t handle (Matthew 19:26). That there is NOTHING that He can’t help me through (Hebrews 13:5). I am thankful that NOTHING can seperate us from the love of Christ (Romans 8:38-39). And that there is NOTHING in heaven above or the earth below that I need to fear (Romans 8:31).
so. does that mean that even if I was a blind person shipwrecked on a desert island with my husband whom I had been forced to marry, that God would help me through that?
yep.
but for now I’m keeping that on my “thankful for not having to deal with” list. ;)
I hope you have a splendid Thanksgiving. may God bless you with many things to be thankful for.
even if they are things you never thought you could be thankful for.
love you,
muffin
20.10.11
where the blacktop ends...
dearest rory,
you may be asking yourself why I haven't written in so long. well, I'll tell you...
I have been partying it up.
no, you weren’t invited. this was a… well… a rather small party. to tell the truth… I was the only one invited.
and let me just tell you, it was one of the longest pity parties I’ve ever been to! oh it was terribly fun. lots of wallowing in puddles, staring blankly at the wall, trying to imagine how life will ever be happy again... that sort of thing. and as a party favor, I gave myself a broken umbrella, cloudy skies, rainy weather, and rain boots (you know, so I could go find more puddles to stand in... in case the one I was in dried up). it was a blast.
why are you looking at me like that? haven’t you ever thrown yourself a pity party? haven’t you ever lost sight of the big picture and become self-centered?
self-centered? how did that word slip in? of course I didn’t actually mean… well, you don’t really mean to say that throwing pity parties for one’s self is selfish… do you?
well okay. so it is. it is selfish. and when one is feeling selfish, it is hard to write letters to friends trying to encourage them when you really feel like saying, “hey, wanna go jump off a cliff with me?”
this was the mood I was in for the past several weeks. terrible, I know. but I had lost sight of something. something important. and I just couldn’t put my finger on what it was.
but God is good at giving reminders.
this past weekend, we stayed out at my grandparent’s cabin in Middle of Nowhere, Iowa. to get there, you start in Burlington, get on the highway, drive past a llama farm, several big red barns, a corn factory, and a run-down racetrack. once you see a rusty, old water tower make a left into a corn field, follow the narrow, paved road past a cute little graveyard, and continue until rubber meets gravel.
where the blacktop ends, follow the gravel road past a blur of crooked farmhouses, battered grey barns, lazy cows, barbed-wire fences, hat-tipping farmers, dust-covered howling dogs, and sleepy looking horses.
drive, oh I don’t know, for fifteen miles or so (as the crow flies), go down a steep hill (with a ravine off to the right), and make a left into our lane right after you pass a dented mailbox.
and that’s where you’ll see the cabin.
I love the cabin.
and this past weekend, even with my on-going pity party, was no exception.
Sunday morning, I woke up early. not bright and early. dark and early.
at six in the morning, the sun was still hiding, but the moon was out in full force. it illuminated the grass so that it glowed blue as it danced in the bitter, autumn breeze. I walked down the lane leading away from the cabin, inhaling deep droughts of air.
it was quiet. the only sound to be heard was my own breathing and the crunch of gravel under my boots.
it was dark. the brightly colored trees were merely black shadows against a blacker sky.
it was cold. my hands were buried deep inside my dad’s jacket which had been obligingly hanging near the front door.
and it was beautiful. I turned out of the lane onto the main road and kept on walking. the sky opened up in front of me like a pop-up book and millions of morning stars blinked down at me. maybe they were laughing at me as I tried (and failed) to walk in a straight line while keeping my head thrown back to watch them. there were so many!
I kept walking. and the sky kept growing lighter in the east. at first, the sky faded from black to gray and then quickly blossomed into a rosy pink. like a virus, the pink began to spread, reaching farther and farther into the blackness.
I looked back towards the west and saw the moon still perched up in the sky. he was slowly sinking as he watched the countryside below take shape under the morning light. a few stars still looked down at me and I stared back at them until, with a final blink, they waved goodbye.
the sky doesn’t seem so large here in the suburbs.
now I could see the fields that were splayed out on either side of me, and they stretched all the way to the horizon.
I put my hands deeper into my pockets and felt small. my puddle began to shrink as I remembered how big God is. as I remembered that the same God who knows the stars by name, who tells the sun and moon when to rise and set, who remembers every bird of the air and every flower of the field… this same God not only knows what life holds for me, He is the one who has planned it.
I wanted to laugh. I wanted to cry. So I prayed. I thanked Him for everything I could see. I thanked Him for the sky and the country and the crooked farmhouses and the moon and the grass and the stars. I thanked Him for being in control. I thanked Him for knowing what lies ahead. I thanked Him for loving me. I thanked Him for reminding me that it’s okay that I’m not in control… in fact, it’s a thousand times better that I’m not.
And I was glad that He is big and I am small.
walking back up the lane to the cabin, I realized that the same world I had walked out into forty minutes before had been transformed. oh, it was still rather dark and cold and quiet. but it was alive and changing. it was silently waiting for God’s plan to unfold for the day. waiting not only for the sun, but also for the clouds. waiting for the cold and the warmth. waiting for the difficulties and the blessings.
so was I.
I tore the streamers down that day and swept up the confetti. I put my rain boots back in the closet and shooed the clouds away. my pity party was over. and a life of trusting God’s plan began again.
love you muchly,
muffin
you may be asking yourself why I haven't written in so long. well, I'll tell you...
I have been partying it up.
no, you weren’t invited. this was a… well… a rather small party. to tell the truth… I was the only one invited.
and let me just tell you, it was one of the longest pity parties I’ve ever been to! oh it was terribly fun. lots of wallowing in puddles, staring blankly at the wall, trying to imagine how life will ever be happy again... that sort of thing. and as a party favor, I gave myself a broken umbrella, cloudy skies, rainy weather, and rain boots (you know, so I could go find more puddles to stand in... in case the one I was in dried up). it was a blast.
why are you looking at me like that? haven’t you ever thrown yourself a pity party? haven’t you ever lost sight of the big picture and become self-centered?
self-centered? how did that word slip in? of course I didn’t actually mean… well, you don’t really mean to say that throwing pity parties for one’s self is selfish… do you?
well okay. so it is. it is selfish. and when one is feeling selfish, it is hard to write letters to friends trying to encourage them when you really feel like saying, “hey, wanna go jump off a cliff with me?”
this was the mood I was in for the past several weeks. terrible, I know. but I had lost sight of something. something important. and I just couldn’t put my finger on what it was.
but God is good at giving reminders.
this past weekend, we stayed out at my grandparent’s cabin in Middle of Nowhere, Iowa. to get there, you start in Burlington, get on the highway, drive past a llama farm, several big red barns, a corn factory, and a run-down racetrack. once you see a rusty, old water tower make a left into a corn field, follow the narrow, paved road past a cute little graveyard, and continue until rubber meets gravel.
where the blacktop ends, follow the gravel road past a blur of crooked farmhouses, battered grey barns, lazy cows, barbed-wire fences, hat-tipping farmers, dust-covered howling dogs, and sleepy looking horses.
drive, oh I don’t know, for fifteen miles or so (as the crow flies), go down a steep hill (with a ravine off to the right), and make a left into our lane right after you pass a dented mailbox.
and that’s where you’ll see the cabin.
I love the cabin.
and this past weekend, even with my on-going pity party, was no exception.
Sunday morning, I woke up early. not bright and early. dark and early.
at six in the morning, the sun was still hiding, but the moon was out in full force. it illuminated the grass so that it glowed blue as it danced in the bitter, autumn breeze. I walked down the lane leading away from the cabin, inhaling deep droughts of air.
it was quiet. the only sound to be heard was my own breathing and the crunch of gravel under my boots.
it was dark. the brightly colored trees were merely black shadows against a blacker sky.
it was cold. my hands were buried deep inside my dad’s jacket which had been obligingly hanging near the front door.
and it was beautiful. I turned out of the lane onto the main road and kept on walking. the sky opened up in front of me like a pop-up book and millions of morning stars blinked down at me. maybe they were laughing at me as I tried (and failed) to walk in a straight line while keeping my head thrown back to watch them. there were so many!
I kept walking. and the sky kept growing lighter in the east. at first, the sky faded from black to gray and then quickly blossomed into a rosy pink. like a virus, the pink began to spread, reaching farther and farther into the blackness.
I looked back towards the west and saw the moon still perched up in the sky. he was slowly sinking as he watched the countryside below take shape under the morning light. a few stars still looked down at me and I stared back at them until, with a final blink, they waved goodbye.
the sky doesn’t seem so large here in the suburbs.
now I could see the fields that were splayed out on either side of me, and they stretched all the way to the horizon.
I put my hands deeper into my pockets and felt small. my puddle began to shrink as I remembered how big God is. as I remembered that the same God who knows the stars by name, who tells the sun and moon when to rise and set, who remembers every bird of the air and every flower of the field… this same God not only knows what life holds for me, He is the one who has planned it.
I wanted to laugh. I wanted to cry. So I prayed. I thanked Him for everything I could see. I thanked Him for the sky and the country and the crooked farmhouses and the moon and the grass and the stars. I thanked Him for being in control. I thanked Him for knowing what lies ahead. I thanked Him for loving me. I thanked Him for reminding me that it’s okay that I’m not in control… in fact, it’s a thousand times better that I’m not.
And I was glad that He is big and I am small.
walking back up the lane to the cabin, I realized that the same world I had walked out into forty minutes before had been transformed. oh, it was still rather dark and cold and quiet. but it was alive and changing. it was silently waiting for God’s plan to unfold for the day. waiting not only for the sun, but also for the clouds. waiting for the cold and the warmth. waiting for the difficulties and the blessings.
so was I.
I tore the streamers down that day and swept up the confetti. I put my rain boots back in the closet and shooed the clouds away. my pity party was over. and a life of trusting God’s plan began again.
love you muchly,
muffin
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