It has been one of those years.
Actually, if I am really honest, it started three years ago with a drought. And although God sent adequate rain to the crops for the next years, my heart remained dry.
Have you ever had one of those journeys in life where God has clearly asked you into something, but the farther you walk through that door, the more doors behind you start to shut, and if you are really honest, you rather liked those rooms and cringe every time you hear the slam because you are not sure what to do with the seemingly empty voids left behind now that you can no longer go there.
For the past year, I have sat removed from those doors and shed bitter tears, frustrated with God because He would not let me go back, back to where I felt comfortable, back to where I felt needed, back to where I felt safe, back to where life was good. And it has been a very dry season. A constant battle between my head and my heart. My head would say read and study and fill yourself with God’s promises, but my heart would cry out against me because my will was not aligning with God’s.
Lots of questions. What is my purpose? I have no ministry, no direction. And as I wandered aimlessly, my heart followed, starting to question everything, trying to fill the void in my heart with fallen family, forcing them up on a cross to be my savior only to be reminded that they too never belong on that pedestal; only one man has ever walked this earth who earned the right to bear that place for the sake of saving my dry and crackling heart.
And in the meantime, Satan snuck in for the attack, shaking foundations in my life that had never been shaken before, hurling more and more questions at my wounded soul. Are you really loved? Are you really worth it? Don’t you know how ugly your soul is? Don’t you know you’ve missed out on all the things you could’ve become? And pride peeped in, begging an invitation to consider the flawed suggestions.
A better crack. A friend who keeps praying and won’t let me remain hidden in the depths of my pit. A student who shares and invites me to do the same. A song, a friend.
Confession: I have forced myself Sunday after Sunday to go to a place that only stirred very deep resentment; bad enough You closed the doors, but do You have to parade me past them week after week to remind me of what you took.
Remember. Since the beginning of creation You have asked Your people to remember, because You alone know what is truly good. And You are reminding me that pretending the scars aren’t there will not make them go away. You take away, but you also give.
Trust. Trust that when You have closed a door, it is only because You have a much better one in store. But . . . always a but. . . . the struggle is the point. Face the frustration knowing You are still in control, and You really do have the Best plan in mind for me.
Funny thing happened this summer. The rain seems to never cease. Three years ago a drought hit and my heart began to dry, and for years I have been begging God on one hand to just speak up and tell me something, anything, all while my heart began to harden against hearing.
The rains came down. Sunday after Sunday this summer I have sat in church and wept. My heart is far from good, but God is good, even when I am not.
You are good, You are good, when there’s nothing good in me. I would love to say I’m running to Your arms, but I’m not. It's more of a one-foot-in-front-of-the-other climbing out to the ground above so I can plant my feet on solid ground just long enough to fall on my knees, crying out to You to please forgive me.
I have been wandering, and I want to be found in Your ways alone. I want to hear the truth to those questions, to know You Love Me, because You think I am worth it enough to send Your Son to die for me. To know you make beauty from the ashes of my burnt out soul and whatever I have missed out on is nothing compared to what You have in store.
I am ready to Touch the Sky. It seems too far away in this wallowed pit.
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