This morning I was finishing off reading in the book of Job, and I came across this phrase towards the end.
“Who is this that hides counsel without knowledge?
Therefore I have uttered what I did not understand,
things too wonderful for me, which I did not know.”
[ Job 42:3 ]
Things too wonderful for me…
Wow. I was thinking about how this actually relates to my life, and it got me thinking about some of the difficult things I have experienced. Those have been the times I have most questioned God’s purposes, his plans. I think sometimes we have a tendency to think that God doesn’t care enough to share with us what the purpose of that pain is or was, but maybe its exactly the opposite. Maybe the purpose of the pain is simply far to incredible for us to handle! I love the image it brings me, of a parent just bursting to tell you, but they know you just couldn’t handle that much joy right now!
I’ve had that phrase stuck in my head for weeks now. Someone who inspires me wrote it well over a year ago. I just keep circling back to it, again and again, whatever else is going on.
A song on the radio. A fleeting moment with a friend. An article in a paper. A film.
It’s crap unless it moves you.
There’s this song that’s been stuck on repeat for the last few weeks, much like that phrase. It’s by a beautiful band called The Autumn Film (and if you haven’t heard them yet, you should check them out). It moves me in ways that a song has not done in a long time. The melody, the chord progression, the lyrics… they move me to my knees, they move me to tears. They break me and mend me in ways “church music” rarely does.
Inner walls are tumbling down, feel it crumble
theres nothing left to tear down, theres only gravel
i’m breaking now, i’m breaking down
don’t give up on me now
this can all be mended
we can iron this out
it can all be mended
when youre tearing at the seems
it can all be mended
Keep fighting for your story. Some days it’ll be light and you’ll laugh easily among friends. Other days it’ll be all you’ve got to get out of bed and face the world again. Heavy and light.
It’s crap unless it moves you, crap unless it connects with your story, meets you in your pain, reminds you of your dreams, reminds you what’s possible.
I catch a glimpse of the words scribbled across my wall as I type this.
It’s a conscious attempt to remember that death is beaten, victory is won. Now, and forever.
Another Easter where I have felt disengaged, far away, and alone.
Another Easter where Jesus reminds me that it doesn’t matter how I’m feeling, because
it
is
finished.
And so, I push myself out of my comfort zones that little bit further.
I try to ignore my pride that says, “You don’t matter”, “They wont care”, “It’s not a big deal”.
I grab someone in church, and share some of the things that are going on in my heart.
I still feel the vulnerability. It’s terrifying to be known, and yet that’s what we crave the most.
That someone would know us, and still want to know us.
As they prayed for me last night, Jesus stepped in once again.
I’ve finally got into gear & signed up to use a reading plan on YouVersion.
I’ve been using the YouVersion Bible app on my iPhone for a long time now, but have never really paid much attention to their website or the reading plans. It seems like Christmas & New Year encouraged a lot more people to sign up and start using one of their reading plans – lots of people I know have been talking about it.
I, of course, had to wait several weeks before really looking into it. But I’m here now. I’m using the Old Testament & New Testament plan, which you can check it out by following the link.
11:15. Coffee in hand, I find a seat in the auditorium and watch friends mill in across the room.
“Turn your eyes upon Jesus…”
The refrain fills the auditorium. My friend is on stage, leading us in worship. I’d forgotten how amazing her voice is. It’s beautiful. The music is low, peaceful; we sing the words again and again and I find my thumping spirit slow and still.
Our songs wind their way through waiting & drawing close, on mountaintops and in valleys. Words of hope, words of encouragement.
“This is my prayer in the desert
When all that’s within me feels dry
This is my prayer in my hunger and need
My God is a God who provides”
As we share communion, I meditate on what it means to break my body and pour my life out on behalf of the people around me. I feel weak. I wonder why God would choose to use us in his plan to redeem and restore the world.
My friend is back on stage, singing a love song. I’ve got tears in my eyes. She is lost in awe; surrendered to what the Father is doing. There is a tenderness in her voice, and I can’t help but think of all that the Father has brought her through. All the pain & suffering in her life, and here she stands on stage singing,
“When all of a sudden, I am unaware of these afflictions eclipsed by glory
and I realize just how beautiful You are and how great your affections are for me…”
Emotion overcomes me. I desire to sing those words with the same tenderness she does, yet so often I feel far from it. I speak harshly to those around me; I act rashly. I desire mercy yet speak judgement. I am a bundle of paradoxes.
I’m thankful that there is grace; that I don’t have to live with regret…
If grace is an ocean, we’re all sinking
So heaven meets earth like a sloppy wet kiss and my heart turns
violently inside of my chest
I don’t have time to maintain these regrets when I think about the way
He loves us,
Oh, how He loves us
Oh, how He loves us
Oh, how He loves
A glance at the phone told us we’d been sitting here for almost 4 hours. Time flew past, and it was only because the barista dragged the milk bar out to block off our section that I even thought to check the time.
Something happened in that time that opened up my heart again. There I was, hanging out with a friend I didn’t even know that well, and I was talking about things people who’ve known me for years don’t even know about. It felt safe, and I knew I could trust her. It was unhurried.
There’s something in me that wonders if we are losing ourselves in todays pace of life. Maybe I wonder if I’m losing myself sometimes. I mean, when was the last time you found yourself so caught up in the present moment that you totally lost track of time? And were happy about it? When I look back on how my life looked when I was 17/18, it was crazy. I was so busy. Even now, I see I still have a long way to go with finding the right balance for my own sanity. For me it seems to work best in seasons – seasons of intensity and busyness, and seasons of rest and reflection. But it’s undeniable that my heart opens up more when I’m given time to stop, to reflect, to rest. Maybe it’s why I love those words Pico Iyer once wrote, that “ultimately, movement is only as valuable as your commitment to stillness, and vice versa.”
Our independent, self-sufficient selves come out and fight it. I knew I needed my friend this week, and yet every time I’d send her a text or lie on a sofa watching DVDs with her, my head was fighting it. Telling me I was imposing. Telling me I’m too much.
I think that has to be one of the Enemy’s greatest achievements: convincing us that we shouldn’t lean on others. That we have to face our demons alone.
And yet it is still a struggle to admit that I need people. One of my favourite theologians sang that “we get to carry each other”. Get to. Are privileged to. It always seems easier when you’re on the other side, when you get to carry your friends. It’s much harder when it’s your turn to be carried.
“A good editor draws out what is not said in order to give life to what was aborted before it saw the light of day. We need friends who will name what is unnamed in our story, so that the truth is told. A good editor also helps to ensure that we don’t edit out the truth. And a good editor helps us consider the implications of what our story tells us about ourselves.”
[Dan Allender]
That four hour coffee trip turned into many more conversations, in person and via text message. My friend put words on the turmoil in my heart this week. Spoke words I fear, but needed to hear (and still need to). Don Miller says that conflict is the only thing that ever really moves a story along. Our job is to just hold on, and wait for the master storyteller to reveal the rest…
I know you’ve been going through some things
The pain you hold inside’s written on your face
I know you’ve got tired of the rain
Well, baby, so am I, but I know things can change….
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