Collapse

I stand with you on a shoreline, gazing up at the night sky. As I peer into the darkness, I find it to be riddled with light. It’s quite stunning, really. One or two pinpoints might not make such a difference, but together, they are such a sight to behold! 

Innumerable, they stretch out as far as the eye can see. Each speck offers a unique beauty of its own. I marvel at each one, pondering all that it took to create them. 

As I adore this blanket of majesty, I am struck by the fact that each piercing of light was born out of a collapse. How beautiful, that in order to shine its brightest light, a star must first endure what surely feels like death.

Surprisingly, though the pressure causes it to collapse, it does not die. Instead it finds itself brilliantly illuminating the sky before us. I glance from one spot to another, to another, to another, each one telling me its story of resilience. 

There are so many here! I could never count them, and yet, you know them each by name. The mere thought of that takes my breath away. I pause to consider the vastness of your presence, and the tender nature of your love. 

At that moment, I understand that I too am like this sprawling night sky. I have spots within me that are continually caving in and collapsing under pressure, with your healing love piercing through the darkness of my soul. It gives off the most radiant light!

You painstakingly interact with the darkness inside of me, making space for your light to shine through. And just like the stars, you know each of my healings by name. Grief, betrayal, envy, greed, anger, shame, pride, etc. The list goes on and on because mine, too, are innumerable.

Smiling, you hold out your hand, inviting me away from the shoreline. It’s not the first time, nor will it be the last. I take it, knowing this means yet another collapse, as I wade in the depths with you.

What a thought it is that you might gaze in wonder at the work you’ve done in me, just as I gaze up at the night sky.

Hopefully Doing Without

You are a miracle worker,
Even when I don’t get a miracle.

You are the Great Physician,
Even when my wounds don’t heal. 

You are the Author of Life,
Even when my womb is empty. 

You are a fountain of living water,
Even when I find myself dry.

You are speaking in a gentle whisper,
Even when I can’t hear your voice.

You are the Prince of Peace,
Even when I’m filled with anxiety.

You are a giver of good gifts, 
Even when you tell me no. 

You are Immanuel, God with us.
You never leave or forsake. 

And when my face is stained by grief,
You draw close and weep with me too. 

My circumstances cannot change who you are. 
Therefore, I will not lose heart. 

Yes, I am hanging on by a thread, 
surrounded by hurricane winds. 

But this thread’s a lifeline, 
Stretching all the way to your hem. 

And I will cling to this garment. 
My God, I will hold on for dear life! 

For what good is this faith if it cannot endure 
while I am hopefully doing without?

A Prayer for Devotion

Jesus – I confess that there is a desire within me to be comfortable, but I don’t want to have comfort at the cost of my intimacy with you. Having to constantly rely on you through the chaos of my life has drawn me deeper into your arms. I want to stay here. 

My tendency is to pray against the sort of things that would distract me from you. I want to pray that if excess or comfort would take me away from you, may I never have them. But just as the words form and are ready to leave my lips, I feel this deep sense that you want me to choose you in spite of these things, not because I never had them. To have the distractions, but to be so captivated by your gaze, that I never even look at them. Dang. 

Honestly, my spirit fell a little when I sensed this. It would be so much easier to be free from distractions! And that’s when I realized I’m only praying to not have distractions because I’m afraid I won’t actually choose you when they come. Sheesh. I  guess I should rephrase that “I want to stay here” to  “I want to want to stay here.” I am so fickle!

Now I see exactly what you’re after: My devotion. And that means testing. It’s easy to stay in your arms without distraction, but that isn’t actually real, is it? It isn’t love, nor is it loyalty. It’s just…easy. 

But you want my heart through it all – the good times and the bad. When it’s easy…and when it’s not. You want me to stay, eyes locked with yours, even through the distraction of comfort. We don’t often think about the difficulty of staying with you when we are comfortable, but I think that’s perhaps the hardest time to continue to gaze. 

You want me to gaze through every single season, and you won’t stop testing me until I stop looking away. So you’ll not prevent me from getting comfortable (I am fighting the urge to end that sentence with “unfortunately”, but that again reveals my lack of devotion), just as you won’t prevent me from being uncomfortable or experiencing pain/suffering.

No. You will test me until you have my devotion in both little and in excess. And I guess I will welcome it. Instead of praying against it, I’ll just pray that I can pass the test(s). Jesus, may I always be devoted to you.