Lord, I’m here. Waiting. For what, I’m not sure. You’ve shown me incredible love and insight in the moments that I surrender to scribing what you have to say to me. I’ve wrestled in prayer and I’ve tossed and turned and tried to quiet the noise in my mind, but the restlessness won’t go away tonight. Is this how we do it? As I sit here trying to focus..to listen to you...I hear only the world around me. Crickets, tree frogs, a train that doesn’t sound like it’s ever going to end, and a barking dog that sounds like a skipping record. But I don’t hear you. I seek you in your word. I seek you in prayer. I seek you in the counsel of others and I seek you in silence and solitude. You are the only constant that I have. And I seek you. Your word tells me that if I seek, I will find you. What keeps me from hearing clearly? Where does this restlessness come from? You know the very depths of me better than I do. You know each wound old and new, big and small. The battle scars are many, but you’ve healed them and made me stronger. Those scars are my testimony, but these new wounds are enormous and it feels like they will surely swallow me. I’m trying to fight to live again. I’ve stepped out of the boat in faith to meet you, but the temptation is great to take my eyes off of you and focus on the waves. When I do, I drown in fear, confusion, uncertainty and pain. You faithfully reach in, pull me out, dry me off and remind me again to look only at you. Why you love me so much is beyond me, because more times than not, I get in the way, and allow the waves to wash over me, spinning me in an enormous undercurrent. There you are, again. Why you have fought for me so hard is a mystery.
And now, just like that, I think I see where this is going.
Like a blooming flower, you unfold what you want me to see. I know what it’s like to love someone who thinks that they are unloveable. And, I know what it’s like to fight for someone so hard, even when they aren’t fighting for themselves. I also know the pain of that love and that unwavering devotion to a child that doesn’t receive it. I know the frustration of fighting for a child that is too weak or too deceived to fight for themselves. Thank you Lord that you never grow weary or frustrated with me! You’ve suffered, fought and conquered death, but still you fight for us daily. Still, you love us when we are most unloveable. You died to prove your love for us and yet you prove yourself to us over and over again, only to watch the waves overtake us. I’m tired, Lord. I’m tired of nearly drowning so many times but oh how thankful I am that you will never stop pulling me out and reminding me to keep my eyes on you. You know my pain, my fear and these newly broken parts in me, and because you know them, I will be ok. I will be better than ok. These new wounds and the waves that carry them won’t always overcome me. Instead, by your power, I will overcome them. I look forward to that time with great anticipation. Until then, I trust you in the process of healing what is the greatest wound of my life. There are other momma’s and daddy’s out there tonight with this same restlessness fighting to keep their heads above water. Fighting themselves. Fighting fear. Fighting for their children or fighting the grief of losing them. We all want to live again. We want the autopilot switch turned off. We want to love deeply and see clearly. To feel joy and to appreciate this life you’ve given us to LIVE. Thank you for wanting that too. Thank you for being so willing to facilitate the healing that will lead us to that place. Thank you for the promise that there will be beauty from the ashes and joy to replace the mourning. Thank you for calling me out of the bed to meet me here in words. Thank you that even though our lives change in such dramatic and immobilizing ways, you never do. Despite our circumstances, you are still you and the victory is ours because of you. We’ve already won.
Please give us all the peace and patience to walk out the victory.