A soft song began playing in my car and I wondered how long it had been since I’d listened to it. Watching my wiper blades clear the rain away from my window, I felt my thoughts drift off to another place, another time. Melancholy came when I heard the words, “is this love or is this hate, I’m so afraid”. In my mind’s eye I could see a little girl sitting alone in her room. She too was staring out a window while the rain fell.
Turning off the music I listened to the sound of a rain that had been falling since the dawn of creation. This water would always refresh the earth and be poured out again and again. I wanted it to wash over me, cleansing me of the questions I’d carried for too long. I didn’t want to be afraid ever again. I didn’t want any little girl to be afraid.
Waking up I lay still listening to my husband’s even breathing beside me. I knew I had been dreaming but the details escaped me. My heart felt as though I suffered a hangover of lovesickness. I could only wonder about why. Searching the recesses of my mind I looked for clues of what had been spoken to me in my sleep. Nothing was revealed; sighing I knew I had to wait for my answer to come another day.
My car waits at a stoplight and I can see the vehicle next to me has a crucifix hanging from their rear-view mirror. The light changes, and turning in another direction, I find myself behind another car having a fish emblem. I turn yet again only to sit behind someone who has a sticker of how “Jesus Saved My Life” on the bumper.
My curiosity is piqued, desiring to know if anyone in these cars really relates to Jesus personally. My heart burns with hope they do. I ache in wonder, hoping these proclamations of faith aren’t just props stemming from a Sunday sermon they heard? I know full well, only the Lord knows the depths of anyone’s heart, and I smile in agreement of prayer…”Let it be so Lord! Let each of these proclamations be a truth, let each of them know you as personal…thank you Jesus!”
An archaeologist spends his life learning the history of the earth’s existence. He digs in remote sites long forgotten to find greater understanding. He then tries to explain it to others within the confines of his logical education. I have sympathy for this type of teacher. I understand the limitations of trying to teach something that really can’t be explained by a man’s education. Picture if you will, an archaeologist trying to explain to young kids what each layer means in terms of his teaching knowledge, yet the kids only see a mound of dirt. This picture extends to life as well.
We each have memories and experiences that have formed who we are. We can try to explain them in a logical fashion, but in the end we must realize all our digging doesn’t always give us words to explain to others the history of who we are. Where we see a life of experiences, they may only see a mound of dirt. If we get them to draw back away from the digging site, their view may have more perspective. They can see the over layering of trees and grass, maybe even new civilizations. That new growth has been built upon the old sites.
Isa 61:4 They shall build up the old ruins; they shall raise up the former desolations; they shall repair the ruined cities, the desolations of many generations.
I lay my book down on the pillow beside me. Putting my head in my hands, I again brought the questions of the heart to my Father. I had so many questions. I picked up my guitar and played until my fingers began to hurt. Words felt so useless in these moments. An inner conflict was raging within. Trying to understand things logically, but needing to trust no matter.
I began to think about the seas. I had walked on beaches in different parts of the world but they all had one constant, the waves came in steady fashion…
The floor was covered in debris. She lay bleeding, hidden in the ruble. Life’s battle had bruised and battered her. Of her wounds, some were life threatening, others mere flesh wounds. Her strength had waned and no longer could she cry out for help. She had come into the world unnoticed and in this dark place she knew she’d leave it just as unnoticed.
In her mind she could hear the far away memory of her mother’s voice reading a strange story to her…No one looked on you with pity or had compassion enough to do any of these things for you. Rather, you were thrown out into the open field, for on the day you were born you were despised. “‘Then I passed by and saw you kicking about in your blood, and as you lay there in your blood I said to you, “Live!”
She remembered her mother telling her that after this daughter was saved, she forgot the one who had saved her. Her mother’s voice had spoke often of help and forgiveness in the name Jesus no matter how far away she ran.
Tears came, she couldn’t remember the last time she had cried. With a broken voice she spoke out into the air, “Jesus, my mother said you could help me if I were in trouble. I think I want to live but not as it was before. I don’t want to sell myself to every man I meet. If you are real, will you be the man in my life?” She felt so tired. It was time to rest for the last time. Closing her eyes she finally could sleep peacefully. Someone was holding her hand and it felt good.
* Eze 16:5-6
He covers me with His protection and I am safe here beneath the shadow of His wing. I don’t want to see the world right now and I turn my face into His soft down, desiring to hide my eyes. I feel His hand touch beneath my chin to bring my face back around.
“Daughter I am your refuge, but I have opened your eyes because you see with a heart of love. The things you see hurt you because they hurt me. You must see them so that I can teach you how I want you to pray.”
Tears run down my cheeks as I realize the depth of pain in my Father’s heart for those He loves. I must choose to keep my eyes open for my Father.
Ps 91:2 I will say of the LORD, “He is my refuge and my fortress; my God, in Him I will trust.”
In the night we dream of better things. In our awakened state the reality of life can be less than we had hoped. We disappoint ourselves and we let others down in the crush of expectations. I sat in the sunshine enjoying the scent of lilies. Looking at creation’s beauty I wondered why nature’s life could be so beautiful and we as people not so much? A desire to be beautiful was in my heart. I had to give it time.
Phil 1:6 And I am certain that God, who began the good work within you, will continue his work until it is finally finished on the day when Christ Jesus returns.
I heard his voice gently calling to me. Opening my eyes, I could see my husband beckoning me to come to bed. I had drifted off at some point in the evening while I lay reading on the couch. He takes my hand and leads me, tucking me under the covers beside him. Soon I hear his breathing relax and I know he is now sleeping peacefully.
Laying beside him I reach out to touch his hair, careful not to wake him. My heart feels so full to know he wants me near. I draw closer, putting my ear upon his chest. I want to hear more of this man.