The words come slow, but I don’t really mind. A lot of things are slow these days, in a certain manner of speaking. Simple. Gritty. Rubbing a pearl right out of the sand, I like to think. An ocean of noise on the outside, but in my little oyster home, a solace. A sanctuary.
I used to think I knew so much. And then I broke into pieces years ago. Humbled by the knocks of life that taught me that I am not invincible. Experiences leading to the choice to feel or to medicate the pain, both with difficult consequences. The road to accept and surrender to what God has given (or has allowed) even though it hurt, or the road to reject those things in favor of denial, self-protection, and start on a quest to find meaning in life apart from God. Not an easy choice when you just want the bleeding to stop. When you know that to surrender means also to suffer…in a way. Suffer through a season to gain a reward that may not be tangible in this life, to grow in character in uncomfortable ways, and emerge on the other side with an entirely different perspective about life.
I chose to feel. To press in. To pray and cry out to God for healing. For mercy. For a future and a hope just like He promised. I chose it over and over again every day for years. Many days with knocking knees and tears down my cheeks, afraid that the light at the end of the tunnel would never come. But still I journeyed. On my face, seeking the Lord for the fullness of His heart. For the calling He has for me. Searching for purpose. Longing for connection. Looking for beauty.
And this is where I am. With light shining all around. Laughter ringing in my ears and in my heart. All the time. Hope near to the tattered soul. A recipient of great mercy, great healing, and great blessing. Looking ahead to the mountains, knowing I will be able to climb each one with His help, even if days ahead are filled again with pain somehow. He has my full confidence.
And I just have to tell you that if you’re there, in the dark place….the hard place…there is hope and healing and wholeness to be found in Jesus. There are no shortcuts on the journey. Not that I know of, anyway. For me, it has been long, slow, and difficult process of yielding. Repeatedly. When I wanted to do anything else but yield. Wanted to run. Wanted to escape. Wanted it to be easier. But I’m discovering that the things that come easy rarely mean as much to us as the ones that come at a high price. I have learned that I cannot see what He sees, but I can see Him. I have learned that burdens are not to be carried alone. And the greatest gifts in the world, the ones that He gives, come dressed in the most unexpected ways.