I was ready for Spring Break. We all needed some down time with friends. We started off the week with a St. Patrick's Day parade.
We got ready to take our annual St. Patrick's Day picture. I jokingly said, "Suck it in, ladies." One of the husbands, who shall remain nameless, said, "You all need to suck it in some more..." Our response was caught on camera. (I may mention that the one who looks least shocked is probably the wife of the perpetrator.)
We let him live long enough to get our photo.
One of my kids is pretty scared of parades. Still.
The boys were happier than they appear on camera. I promise.
After the parade, the kids and I had Mexican with our sweet friend. Yes, Mexican. On St. Patrick's Day. Makes sense, right?
Later in the week, we had lunch and a water play date.
Somebody was a little nervous about getting his shorts wet. That didn't last for long, and soon he was drenched. (A better mother would have thought to put the kids in bathing suits, but since ours were still safely packed in the attic, we had no bathing suits.)
All of the kids got new, wonderful and amazing shoes. I'm a little jealous. I think.
We got to visit a friend in the hospital, and this picture just made me really happy.
Another day we got to go to the airport and pick up a sweet friend. The kids thought this was the coolest thing ever.
I'll probably get in trouble for this one, but I got some girl time too. It may have involved our favorite - key lime pie.
The week concluded with a party to celebrate a sweet friend who is about to move to another country. It was in a loft downtown. I took tons of pictures that I'll put in another post, but this is my favorite. And I spent about 2.5 seconds daydreaming about living in a loft like this one. Okay fine, maybe a tad longer.
I'm not going to talk about her leaving yet. But it was a great party.
There was also a lot of playing football in the backyard and board games with Daddy. There was sleeping in and coffee/play dates dates with friends. There was a grown up dinner and movie date night. There was even some spring cleaning and organizing. It was good to have a break from school and the routine. Hopefully we got the rest we needed to push through the last part of the school year, working hard to finish out the year strongly.
I may have said that with more hope and confidence than I feel.
Anyway, it was a good week. And I'm eternally thankful for good friends.
My time exercising in the morning is most precious. It enables me to breathe. {figuratively}
I was a little surprised this morning to feel the Spirit urging me to shake things up a bit.
I have tried to be a runner several times, and while I love most everything about running, I have realized that I am not destined to be a runner.
Which is fine with me.
But last week I needed to run.
And I did. A lot.
And I sort of loved it again.
And so today, as I prayed and worshiped, I felt the Lord, dare I say telling me, to alternate running with fast walking up the two hills in my neighborhood.
Huh.
But I obeyed.
Strength mixed with endurance
I recognized that immediately.
And as I struggle with new levels of faith and trust, I also saw the spiritual implications.
Strength of faith/trust/hope. Exercising my faith. Working it out, along with my salvation. Feeling it pushed and pulled and stretched and worked out until it's exhausted.
Strength
Grow my faith.
Make it strong.
I can't stop thinking about the woman in Matthew 15:21-28.
Her faith was so strong, and Jesus praised her for it.
Ah, to have my faith praised by Christ...
And endurance
The ability to run this long, hard race.
We learned Hebrews 12 in song in school a couple of weeks ago. I sing it at the top of my lungs:
Therefore, since we have so great a cloud of witnesses surrounding us, let us also lay aside every encumbrance and the sin which so easily entangles us, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, fixing our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of faith, who for the joy set before Him endured the cross, despising the shame, and has sat down at the right hand of the throne of God.
For consider Him who has endured such hostility by sinners against Himself, so that you will not grow weary and lose heart.
Run.
And then run some more. And keep running.
And much like most every morning I huff, "This might kill me..." I think the same about this walk with Him.
But oh, He is faithful. And wise. And perfect. And worthy of complete trust. And faith. And I will yet hope in Him.
And music not only also helps me breathe, it helps me exercise. This is what I am currently addicted to. This album is free. Please get it.
{I played "Revelator" over and over and over again this morning}
She would keep vigil at her graveside for the day.
We gathered at a friend's house to keep each other company. We would take turns going to sit with her while our kids played together at the house.
It was a subdued day.
I watched another friend, her head bent over her adoption paperwork.
That was a familiar ache, but there was no time for my aches today. Today was about her.
Another friend took the first turn. I saw the sadness in her eyes, but there was a tiny bit of fear too. To watch someone you love grieve is one of the most helpless and horrible feelings ever.
She brushed that aside and said, "I'm going to take her some food. She'll be hungry. Maybe."
I agreed.
She headed out and I set out to clean her kitchen. I needed to stay busy and my love of cleaning her kitchen always made us laugh.
Well, other days it did. I didn't feel much like laughing today.
I busied myself with the cleaning and taking care for the kids. The house full of voices and laughter was comforting. I texted her to check on things.
She's okay.
I was thankful for that. I scrubbed and prayed. More.
Soon she texted, "I'm on the way home. Your turn."
I prayed more.
As the van approached the cemetery, the tears spilled. The memories of the week a year ago flashed like a slide show. I flicked away the tears in frustration. I didn't need to be weepy. That wouldn't help.
My phone sounded and I looked down at the text.
Take an umbrella. She's getting sunburned.
I laughed with tears still on my cheeks. An umbrella? That sounded funny on this cloudless day. But I smiled at the consideration.
So sweet.
I climbed out of the van bumping the umbrella on the door frame. The sight of her sitting by the grave made me catch my breath. No mother should ever ever have to sit by her child's grave. The anger welled in me. Sin. Death.
I raged at it all as I walked towards her.
I sat down and looked at her. Her smile was sweet and sad.
I looked at the new head stone. It was beautiful. There were balloons that said "Happy Birthday" dancing in the wind. She was two years old for only a couple of days. We celebrated her third birthday without her.
I breathed deep and turned back.
"Did you eat?"
She nodded yes.
We sat for a bit, not talking. It's easy to do that with her and I love it.
I looked up and her mom was walking across the grass. She sat and we allowed her some quiet time to soak it all in. Soon another friend came. We all sat.
I thought of Job and his friends. Before they started talking and ruined everything, they sat with him for seven days in complete silence. That had to feel good. Comforting.
Is that an umbrella?
A giggle escaped me before I could stop it.
"Well, she told me to bring it. She said you would get sunburned sitting out here."
I opened it over my friend, and she said, "That does feel better."
We talked and conversation flowed. We actually laughed and talked. The knot of fear loosened in me. She was comforted. Hurting, sad and forever missing her girl, but comforted.
As laughter floated across the wind, I turned to look across all the head stones.
You comforted her. You took her through it all. And You will carry her more. You did it. You were faithful. You provided. You were sovereign over every step of the way. You never let her falter. She's still here-a testimony to Your grace. Your sustaining power...
I didn't want to say the words aloud. Not right then. But the praise soared in me. I saw her a year ago. I saw the horror and fear and panic.
Today I saw longing mixed with comfort.
I think his bright blonde hair caught my attention first. It was bright in the sunshine. I had seen him out of the corner of my eye on the lawn mower as he tended to the grass. Now he was purposefully walking towards us. He shyly but intentionally walked up to us. It was only as he got to us that I saw four bottles of water in his hands. They were cold and the water from the condensation dripped onto the grass.
"I thought you might need these," he said with the same shyness he had approached us with.
They said thank you but I only choked back tears. The sweetness of the gesture caught my words in my throat. This sweet young man spent his day with death, yet the sight of grief still moved him to kind action. He wasn't hardened by it.
I still think of him and hope he's still not hardened, if he's still there.
The icy water was refreshing and comforting. I rubbed my finger along the bottle watching the drips running along my finger.
You are tangible. You care for us this way. With these gestures. Let me always see them as being from You...
We laughed more. Talked about her. And other things. Silly things. Some theology, as per our usual. We sat quietly. We took turns holding the umbrella.
I went, got my kids and came back. Her kids came. We sat more. My kids paused by the grave. The girl kid longer than the boys. They took off again, as kids do. They played hide and seek among the head stones. Part of me wanted to tell them not to. To be respectful.
But then I thought how beautiful. How normal. Death, as much a part of life as birth. To see it as a normal part of life. To know that one day it will be conquered. Until then to see it as something to live with. They ran and chased and rolled down the hill and laughed, their cheeks flushed red by the sun and their movement. As their voices bounced off the hard stone monuments to lives lived and monuments to memories of cherished loved ones, I resolved to love them more. Treasure them more.
To take nothing for granted.
Her husband arrived after work. I gave them some time as I wandered through the head stones, reading and praying.
Then it was time to go.
The van drove toward home. We were all quiet, the kids tired from a day with friends, me reflecting on the events of the day. It was much easier than I had anticipated.
Oh, You were here. You came before us. It was all You...
I couldn't stop thanking Him for is provision. I couldn't stop thanking Him for taking care of her. For caring for all of them.
Later. It occurred to me that He was tangible in so many ways that day.
I called her. I didn't usually. Neither of us like to talk on the phone.
"Did you notice how He cared for you?" I asked. "You got there with nothing. He brought everything you needed. A blanket. Food. Water. Friends. Laughter. And even a stinking umbrella to keep off the sun..."
Her laugh. She agreed.
Me? I prepare for everything. I pack an arsenal. Prepared for every circumstance. Water, snacks, a change of clothes...
Had it been me that day, I would have had a cooler filled with snacks and water and anything else I would have needed for the day.
She stepped out with nothing.
And He provided.
It was little. Small details. Not a big deal. But to me, it spoke volumes.
I so prepare for any situation that I sometimes rob myself of the value of seeing Him provide.
She agreed. She said she used to be that way, but the five kids had removed some of that ability to over prepare for everything. You have to go with the flow more with five kids, she said.
I think of that day often. As I seek to trust Him more to provide for me and those I love, He calls me to remember all the ways I've seen Him provide in the past. I think of the umbrella. I think of the sweet man with water. I think of the food and blanket and laughter.
He will provide. And maybe He provides most when we step outside of trying to provide for ourselves - when we step out stripped of anything we could do for ourselves and ask Him to provide. Perhaps He's waiting for us to stop trying to provide for ourselves and waiting on us to collapse at His feet and say through muffled tears,
You do it. You care for me.
And He will. I've seen it. More times than I could ever recount. He will.
We finished The Jesus Storybook Bible in school earlier this year, and I wanted something else to follow it up with that my five year old could relate to.
I wasn't sure it was going to be a wise purchase, but it was such a good deal, I decided to give it a chance.
I love this book.
I like it even more than The Jesus Storybook Bible. There are more stories from the Bible, and I love how the author weaves the gospel through each of these stories. I love that it has questions at the end of each story to remind me to ask to see if the story resonated with the kids. Or if they heard it. Not that this ever happens here. They listen with bated breath to everything I say in school.
Anyway.
The artsy part of me is in love with the illustrations in this book. I am not fond of illustrations of Jesus at all, but these illustrations are on the more abstract side of things and don't appear to be attempting to depict an accurate image of Christ. This makes me happy. Or at least happier than I would be with other typical illustrations.
But that's a pet peeve of mine, so we can probably ignore that all together.
The point is that this is a wonderful addition to our homeschool library, but I would buy it even if I didn't homeschool.
I need to start out by saying that I am truly loath to write this post. I have avoided it for weeks and weeks, and it won't go away. I'll preface it by saying that there will be nothing written here that hasn't been written a million times before. I am going to empty my head here and hopefully be done thinking about this subject.
At least for today.
I hate to write this also because this post will definitely have an expiration date on it.
I read another post the other day by someone who had a while ago written a post where they had at that time eschewed Facebook, and it rang hollow in light of this person's now fervent love for Facebook.
I don't want to do that either.
It's pretty simple, really.
I got off Facebook.
It had started to be problematic for me.
The first thing that was happening was I get getting my feelings hurt.
And I say that with the full maturity of a two year old, fully realizing how it sounds.
It's true though, as much as I hate to admit it.
I prayed through "why" and really tried to get past it.
A lot of it was my fault for being too sensitive. I'll admit that. I confessed this to my very pragmatic husband and his response confirmed what I suspected: I probably needed to get over it. After further pondering it, though, I realized that it wasn't exactly just that. I think there are some things that go on with Facebook that never would go on in real life. We use it to manipulate people and situations and appearances to further our own selves. This was what I was getting tangled up in.
And it made me really mad.
I really tried to get around that but it became a glaring obstruction to anything good that Facebook offered. I never knew when I opened it up if something was going to jump out and hurt me.
Which still sounds ludicrous.
I was talking over this with a friend, feeling her compassion and understanding even in the midst of the absurdity of it all.
"You know that verse that says, 'be hard to offend'?" I asked.
"Is there one that says that?" her eyes lit up. "Really?"
I looked for it and couldn't find it.
"No. There isn't. I thought there was..." I was a little relieved. I didn't like being hurt in these sensitive situations. And as I prayed through it, God showed me where my sensitivity is a good, positive gift and also where it fails me and makes me a pile of useless tears.
So that was good.
I couldn't let it go, though. It wasn't just that. There is the time suck that Facebook is. And inevitably it leads to comparisons and sadness and frustrations and...
I also hated the thought of the time line. I have said a lot of dumb stuff, and the thought of it all being out there, laid out, seemed overwhelming.
My friend texted me one day, before everyone had to have time line, and said, "Have you seen this time line thing? It makes it so easy to stalk people! I've been stalking myself for over an hour!"
And I did just that. I went way back in time to when her life was easier and I sobbed at the old statuses and pictures thought "if only she knew what was coming..."
And did I need to do this to other people? Did I need to do it to myself? And allow others to do it to me?
I felt uneasy about this.
I got so tired of thinking about it.
And other things I won't even waste time putting here.
I just needed a break.
So I deleted my account.
Unfortunately once you make a Facebook account, you can never not have a Facebook account.
That's sort of scary. It never goes away.
That made me feel uneasy too.
But whatever. It was done as much as it could be. The deleting, I mean.
And you know what the very first thing that happened once I selected "Deactivate Account"was?
I breathed a sigh of relief
How odd...
That told me that I had done the right thing.
My phone rang with a ring tone that always makes me smile. I heard the familiar voice squeal of "Hi!" and I dissolved into a puddle. The words "I got off Facebook" poured out and I heard her catch her breath.
"God is wrestling with me there too..."
Is there any better feeling to know that you aren't alone? No matter how strange a spot, no matter how isolated a path, no matter how alternative the trek becomes, to have a single other person in that space is like a cool drink in a parched desert.
We talked it out for a long time, me pacing in the backyard in the sunshine in an effort to find enough peace and quiet to have a conversation.
It was good. God's timing in offering comfort and confirmation was gracious and compassionate and absolutely stunningly beautiful.
She said something that has haunted me relentlessly. My pastor said once that for Christians long ago, slavery was their "blind spot." (Among other issues. This is simply an example.) We look back into history and wonder how they could have ever owned human beings. His analogy was that blatant, flagrant, unrestrained and selfish materialism of today could likely be our blind spot. Generations later might indeed look back on us and wonder how we could have lived the way we do just as we look back on our Christian brothers and sisters and wonder the same about them.
I heard the sweet and gentle voice of this friend, referencing these analogies, say to me, "Amy, do you think that social media could be another of our blind spots?"
She went on to explain that a lot of what social media means and does to us could have ramifications that we simply don't see now or don't want to examine.
I thought about that a lot.
Maybe the answer is "no."
Simple as that.
And maybe the answer is "yes."
I keep thinking about it.
For the first days after I "pulled the plug," I felt lonely and sort of like I was missing an arm.
That told me that it was a good thing that it was gone.
Then as the swirling settled down, I heard...
quiet.
It was quieter in my head. And in my heart. I didn't fear getting on the computer. I didn't feel the stress or trepidation or anything... things felt safe and happy.
That was really, really weird.
Then I felt the urge for real contact. I wanted to have phone conversations. I wanted to see friends. I wanted to text them to check on them. I felt more connected to fewer people.
Adjustments.
My sister had good insight. Her best friend had just deleted her account too. Her friend's thoughts were that instead of the gentle and natural rhythm of friends coming in to and out of our lives, Facebook keeps everyone we've ever known right in front of us all the time. Then, instead of us pouring into the people that are physically right in front of us, our time is divided as we put chunks of our time into a large pool of people that naturally would have moved out of our lives already.
That made sense. I thought about if it was true and how it might have played into this.
It also partially explained why I felt overwhelmed a lot of the time. It's totally my fault that I had 750+ friends. I knew every single one of them, and not all of them were active on Facebook, but still. That many people's thoughts and opinions and prayer requests and variety of problems and lifestyle choices and challenges were just overwhelming to me.
But I loved them and wanted to be a part of their lives.
But not at the detriment of my own "real life" friendships.
But then the fallout started.
My mom texted me early one morning, "Dear, did you unfriend me on Facebook?"
I literally laughed out loud.
"MOM! NO!!!!!"
I explained that I was gone.
Someone said I should have told people I was leaving. Perhaps I should have. I honestly didn't want the ego stroke of even one person saying, "Oh, don't go..." This needed to be honest and real. I needed to just slip away, quietly and unnoticed.
But there were repercussions.
It made my sister in Idaho sad. Really sad. She felt connected to us this way.
My cousin in England. This complicated our keeping in contact.
I used Facebook for email so much.
I had far away friends that I kept up with. Sweet ladies I love so much.
My old church friends. My old pastor was on Facebook. His sweet postings and his still deep and apparent love for the Lord brought tears to my eyes each time he posted.
A family member called me, "What the {&#*} did I do to {tick} you off so you unfriended me?"
Um. Nope. I didn't. But thankfully so or I would have been in big trouble, apparently.
Or friends saying, "Well, how will you know when we're having an impromptu park date?"
Or them texting, "Oh, yeah, so and so announced on Facebook last week that they are pregnant!"
Or getting texts and emails that say, "Oh yeah, I had to text you since you aren't on Facebook..."
Or "I had a really rough week, but it's all better now." I didn't know, or I could have been offering help and praying.
Or just the sweet friend saying gently, "I'm glad you are obeying, but I just miss you. I don't feel as close to you now..."
*sigh*
I struggled with these things.
I have found ways around some of these issues. My sister and I made up a very silly "AnnaBook" where I text her pictures and snippets from our days, and this makes her feel like she's here in a small way.
I am using real email again.
I Skype with my cousin.
I miss a lot of information about the people I love, but I don't feel overwhelmed anymore. I get what I need to, I guess. And I'm trying to be more intentional about keeping in touch with them.
Trying.
It's hard.
Facebook made things easier in a lot of ways.
But it took a lot from me too.
I mean, I was checking Facebook at red lights.
Really?
That's inexcusable.
And for now, I'm enjoying the quiet. I'm enjoying investing my time in other places. No matter how responsible I was with Facebook, it still stole time from other things that were as equally, or more, important.
I came across this verse in my study this week:
My people are destroyed from lack of knowledge... Hosea 4:6
Um, yeah. That's the Lord talking.
And you can read it in context. It doesn't make it any easier to swallow.
How does that correlate with Facebook?
For many people, maybe it doesn't.
For me, today, at this moment, Facebook was something that was distracting me from Him.
And maybe that will change.
I've thought through the changes I would make if I stepped back into Facebookworld. And maybe one day that will happen. For now, today, I don't even want to.
And perhaps I'm trying to leave that door cracked so that if I tiptoe back in, there won't be any "Oh I thought you blasted Facebook back then and here you are again" type of responses.
It can be a great thing, and there are things I still miss. That probably won't change. But for now, I'm sure this is what I'm supposed to be doing. I absolutely sure of it. And that's a good feeling.
The year 2011 was rapidly coming to a close. I was catching up on my blog reading one day, innocently lingering, enjoying the last of the break from school the holidays had to offer. There were posts full of yearly Bible reading plan recommendations, and I skimmed them rather absentmindedly until I heard the unmistakable nudging of the Spirit, "Which one would you like to do?"
Oh boy.
I have studied the Old Testament ad nauseum and was really enjoying the time I was spending in the New Testament.
But I knew what this meant. I needed to just do it. Obey.
Coincidentally, after a bit of research, I chose a plan very similar to the one our church used to walk through the Bible chronologically year before last. I admit to having heart palpitations at seeing the reading plan again. As much as I am a type A/OCD person, and probably other letters that indicate further neurosis, as soon as I am saddled with a schedule, I tend to rebel.
This is a large portion of my charm, I am sure.
Part of me dreaded starting over again. I especially hated the thought of committing to a "plan."
Then I decided for once in my recent past to just obey. So January 1, I flung myself into Genesis 1.
And of course I was blessed. I learned and meditated and worshiped and thanked God at how He provides for me.
He knew I needed this.
I knew what was coming, though. Since this was a chronological plan, Job was coming after Genesis. And I'm going to be honest: I didn't feel up to studying Job.
Even though the book of Job starts well and ends well, Job spends the majority of the book in a trash pile covered in ash and dirt.
And though I fully acknowledge my tendency towards being a drama queen, I feel like I've been sitting in my own pile of trash and ashes for a bit.
And I wasn't sure I felt up to visiting Job in his.
I want to make very clear that I'm not equating my life with Job's.
He lost everything. I have not.
I do think that this book underscores and very clearly illustrates a believer's struggles with God. Trust through suffering. Dealing well with the difficulties of life while struggling with God. The unseen that goes on around us that we are completely unaware of yet figures significantly in our struggles.
Did I say trust?
Oh yes. Okay.
Trusting God.
Nevertheless, Job came after Genesis on that blasted reading plan, so I plunged in, very nearly holding my breath.
Oh, Job.
I get teary at the mention of your name. I ache for you. It's not just that you lost. You lost nearly everything. I can't comprehend the magnitude of the loss you experienced. It nearly takes me outside of myself.
I stared at this picture for a long time. I needed to grieve with Job, as strange as that sounds.
I'm convinced that quick readings of the Old Testament deprive us of the depth of the teachings that it offers. These were real people who struggled in ways that most of us never will. To barrel through texts for the sake of checking off a daily reading plan will never teach us all that God intended for us to learn through His Word. We must linger over texts, sinking deeply into the stories, spending time with the people there.
Maybe this is why I dislike those reading plans. And maybe it's why I'm decidedly far behind and it's only March.
Anyway.
Oh, Job. You lost it all. You crawled to a trash dump outside the city. You turned your face to the heavens and looked to the One who was supposed to care for you and provide for you and be faithful to you always and you asked, "Why?"
Haven't we done that?
One doesn't have to go far to identify with Job.
Haven't we all asked that singularly worded question?
Why?
I am convinced that you can be the most passionate and dedicated follower of Christ and still be taken to your knees in brokenness and pain and sob out to the Father, "Why?"
Why are you letting me suffer?
Why are you far away?
Don't you see?
Don't you care?
How is this best?
Why did you allow this path for me?
When will it end?
It's easier to read Job than to live our own lives because we know how it ends. You read the story with the benefit of knowing how it ends. If at any point you become overwhelmed with Job and his story, you can flip to the end of the book and see him restored. That's comforting.
But to visit Job in his trash heap, you feel his pain. It's palpable.
I wept with him verse after verse. Chapter after chapter. I cannot see Job 13:15 through dry eyes:
Though He slay me, yet I will trust in Him.
And consider the last half of Job 23:
Behold, I go forward but He is not there,
And backward, but I cannot perceive Him;
When He acts on the left, I cannot behold Him;
He turns on the right, I cannot see Him.
But He knows the way I take;
When He has tried me, I shall come forth as gold.
My foot has held fast to His path;
I have kept His way and not turned aside.
I have not departed from the command of His lips;
I have treasured the words of His mouth more than my necessary food.
But He is unique and who can turn Him?
And what His soul desires, that He does.
For He performs what is appointed for me,
And many such decrees are with Him.
Therefore, I would be dismayed at His presence;
When I consider, I am terrified of Him.
It is God who has made my heart faint,
And the Almighty who has dismayed me,
But I am not silenced by the darkness,
Nor deep gloom which covers me.
I've been there. I am there. As I continue to walk in obedience to Him, feeling Him stretch me and push me and use me, I squirm under the pressure. I plod forward, face turn upward, trusting and studying and praising and worshiping and working and resisting the urge to do what comes naturally to me:
I plant my feet and scream into the wind, "What are you doing?" I point to all the wrong and incomplete in my life and in the midst of the storm and the wind and the raging waves, I plead for Him to move.
Yet, He knows the way I take.
I feel Job's pain as he pours himself out before God, angry. Hurt. Exhausted. He pours himself out defiantly, honestly.
And then my favorite.
Then the Lord answered Job out of the whirlwind...
God answered all of Job's hurt and longing and pain and questions with more than sixty of His own.
These aren't my original words but they are true and I say them to myself a lot: In response to all of Job's questions, God only reveals Himself to Job. He doesn't answer Job's questions. He just reveals Himself.
Isn't that good? The Lord owes me nothing. He knows that if He gave me answers to my questions, I would only have more questions. The only things that satisfies me is Him. More of Him. The only thing that quiets the storm is Him.
As God's questions start to flow from Him in chapter 38, I find it hard to breathe. Is He revealed anywhere in Scripture as clearly as He is here? Or is it just that my heart is so thirsty for Him after swimming in Job's pain for the proceeding 37 chapters? The tears stream reading question after question which evoke such worship. We are but nothing. "Behold, I am insignificant..." He is all.
Oh, the worship.
I tried to picture Job's face. How quickly after God started speaking did his anger melt away? How quickly did he bury his face in the trash heap? Did he fall, prostrate? Did he regret questioning the Creator and sustainer of the universe?
And then God was done.
And I love Job's response:
I know that You can do all things,
And that no purpose of Yours can be thwarted.
‘Who is this that hides counsel without knowledge?’
Therefore I have declared that which I did not understand,
Things too wonderful for me, which I did not know.
‘Hear, now, and I will speak;
I will ask You, and You instruct me.’
I have heard of You by the hearing of the ear;
But now my eye sees You;
Therefore I retract,
And I repent in dust and ashes.
But what kills me is that nothing had changed for Job at this point. His children were still dead. He was still destitute. Homeless. His wife was still devastated. He was still covered with the most heinous sores. He was still deathly ill. He was still sitting in a garbage dump.
Nothing had changed.
Except his view of God.
I can't get past that.
Nothing had changed.
On the outside.
I can't control my circumstances. I can't control the world around me. I can't control what comes, or what doesn't. I can't control death or sickness or disaster or catastrophe or heartache or pain or loss or hurt.
I can acknowledge Who God is.
It was a long couple of weeks in Job. So, so many tears. So many struggles. So much trusting and desire to trust and prayers begging God to help me trust.
And as I stepped into Exodus, I still thought of Job, in his trash heap, questioning God. And hearing God.
I kept thinking of God's response. All those questions. "Do you see how perfectly I wove the universe? Do you see how how perfectly I created it? Do you think I am doing the same thing in your life?"
And why don't I see it? I see His perfection all around me. Yet in my own life, I think He's making colossal mistakes. Because He's not meeting my demands. My longings go unfulfilled. And it feels like it's killing me.
I wrestle with this day after day.
I walked one morning, again, pouring out my doubts and fears to an ever patient, ever present God.
I noticed a dandelion, nearly reaching out into the sidewalk in front of me, dancing in the breeze.
I stopped and dropped to the cold, damp sidewalk.
It had been a long time since I had studied a dandelion. It's perfect. Perfectly spherical. Each light, delicate white fluff anchored in the most perfect interval. Soft and beautiful. I studied it in the morning light for a long time.
And you know what? It's a weed. A nuisance. We dig them up, mow them down, douse them in chemicals and tell our children not to enjoy blowing them because they will wreck our pristine yards.
A weed.
Yet God took such care to make them perfect and beautiful.
How much more care is He taking care to craft my life just as perfectly?
Would I have continued on by that dandelion that morning had I not been thinking so deeply about Job? And God's questions to him?
I don't know. I took pictures of that dandelion. I made a picture my screen saver on my phone so that every time I saw it I would hear God start out His questions for Job by saying, "Where were you when I laid the foundations of the earth?"
I still struggle. Daily. But I know there are truths in Job that I must choose to believe. And there is no way to read Job 38 - 42 without worshiping and submitting to Him.
There is just no way.
So I go back there often. I think of Job in that trash heap. He stays there in my mind. And maybe someday I will think of him happy and restored. But for now, he's there. Trusting. And waiting.
And I'm there too.
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"He doesn't tell you how long this particular episode is going to last. And so? You and I trust Him. We trust HIM. We wait. We serve Him. We keep our feet on His paths. We treasure His Word, and whatever God desires, He does. We keep leaning on Him, even though we can't understand what He's up to."
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"Everything that happens, including the things you cannot explain or justify, is being women together like an enormous, beautiful piece of tapestry. From this earthly side, it seems blurred and knotted, strange and twisted. But from heave's perspective, it has an incredible pattern. But best of all, it is for His greater glory. Right now, it seems so confusing, but someday, the details will come together and make good sense."
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"You couldn't piece it together if you tried. You aren't able to understand it and there will be times you won't like it. But as we're learning from Job, He's not going to ask your permission. And so? We trust God. Those who do that discover without trying to make it happen that they have begun to demonstrate grace under pressure."
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"The Lord was nailed to the cross; you can count on being nailed to the wall. It's helpful to see each ordeal that way - as being crucified with Christ... God gives us over to such bruisings because they are part of the process to make us what He intends us to be. The hurting makes us sweeter, more mellow, We lose the fear of losing out; we learn to let go of what we want. We're not so easily provoked to wrath by harm or reproof. We learn to absorb abuse without retaliation, to accept reproof without defensiveness, to return a soft answer to wrath. It makes us calm and strong."
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