Some days my soul feels it can’t stand seeing any more suffering.
My prayer list is full right now of friends and dear people carrying burdens caused by hurts from this list.
That’s a lot of words beginning with s.
BUT there’s another word.
I spy out of the corner of my eye the tiny, beautiful figure in the Nativity manger and I remember why He came.
I’m reminded this Christmas season that we know how this story ends!
Our life stories can feel confusing and shadowed and we find ourselves groping along dark corridors lined with doors and we don’t know which doorknob to turn.
Questions without answers. Queries without responses.
Concerns without comfort. Decisions without direction.
I think Job knew how this felt.
I feel the anguish of David’s heart and soul as he poured out his words into his Psalms.
Words and writing are powerful tools. They offer solace and space and a place to pour out. And in the pouring out, the writer finds his feelings and finds His God and finds needs met.
Stories and writing, they tell tales. And someday, somewhere a reader comes along and relates. He says, “Me too.” “Me too.”
I’ve never known Job, but I know him. I say “Me too.”
I’ve been mourning the Apostle Paul’s death for two months now! I’ve never met him, yet I’ve met him over and over and over inside wispy Scripture page. I’ve read and re-read 2 Timothy and it tells the story of Paul’s life coming to a close. And after getting a glimpse of his heart and his Jesus, I don’t want to say good-bye to Paul. I’m mourning a man I never met, who died before I was born.
That’s what good stories do to you. They grab you and don’t let go. That’s what good testimonies do to you. They make you stand up and sing, “Hallelujah!”
Look! Over there! The beautiful, baby figure is still wrapped up in the manger reminding me.
He’s coming back to fulfill the end of this story.
Of HIS story.
Of my story.
Of your story.
These verses rest softly on me.
2 Corinthians 4:7-18 ~ emphasis mine
Another word that starts with s.
Our troubles are small.
They won’t last very long.
This shows me the story of God’s timetable. So different from how mine feels.
It’s in the perspective.
Because sometimes I want to say, “God this trouble FEELS like it has lasted a LONG time. It doesn’t feel so small to me.”
“My friend has been through so much. Did you miss that God? Were you possibly busy somewhere else?? Because there ARE a lot of people in this world. And I know You said You even see the sparrow, but sometimes these tears come, Father, and Father, not to complain too much, but it’s really hard sometimes to fix my gaze on WHAT I CAN NOT SEE. You know, Father?”
“But dear, dear Father, I am all about You receiving more and more glory. Because even though I question and I falter, deep in my core I hang on so tightly to Your Truth and Your Faithfulness and I believe that You ARE good. All the time. Every good day….gifts! Gifts.
My eyes flit back to the beginning verse.
Fragile jars of clay. “Oh boy do I feel fragile at times!”
I feel BROKEN a lot of the time. Just a lot of clay pieces scattered everywhere.
It says we ARE NOT crushed or abandoned or destroyed.
Fed up? Possibly.
Frayed and fatigued at times.
But we Finish strong.
Isn’t that the BEST ending ever?
I love happy endings.
He leans in close and He whispers to me, “You’re headed towards one, dear heart.”