Love moves slow

Not everything is fast.  Most things aren’t.

Most things build, block upon block, grain upon grain upon grains.

I’ve come to the conclusion that I am of the building.

I like the drops of rain that lazily drip down the tree trunk, slowly, steadily watering her roots.  I like cookies that puff up and brown as they stay in the heat. A song that begins with one voice, only later to be joined by a second. A lone cello, then his sister violins.

God is after my heart,.  The process is 53 years old.  And I’m after His.

My faith is not a fire, as much as it’s a glow.

Steady, and often slow.

Love   moves   slow

Bind up these broken wounds

I am thinking today about looking back.

If you were to ask me about my views on looking back, my stock answer was always this:  There is absolutely no purpose in looking behind you unless what you look at propels you forward.  And I do believe that’s true, but my stock answer may be in the process of revision.

There have been circumstances in my history where I experienced an earthquake, of sorts.  And tremors long past the event. I’m rather astonished at the number of “earthquakes” I have actually survived.  Sometimes it’s pretty overwhelming.

Amazingly, I survived those disasters without  personally collapsing.  The ability to delay an emotional reaction  and to compartmentalize issues I thought was reserved for men,  but it turns out that I was wrong.  I could do those things.  And I did it rather instinctually.

With a lot of work in the last few years, what I have discovered is the value in the experience.  The experience of loss as it happens. Real time, so to speak.

It isn’t just ok to cry and feel, it’s necessary.

Feeling is part of the human experience.  Tears are a gift from God. Hard to value in the actual moment of pain, but a gift still.

Tears release  fenced-in emotion. Tears are the vehicle to let go of control and validate loss. Tears cry out to a God who sees all.  The past and the present, intertwined to forge our future. And tears are acceptance of a life experience I may not have wanted, but with faith know will result in my good and God’s glory.

Looking back….God’s hand was part of it all. Gazing back there, I wish I had been more willing.  Delaying emotion only increased my pain.

So my definition is the same, but has new wisdom..  Looking back, for me, brings me to be more present in the moment.

If I cry today, thankfulness will be part of it. Mercy bend and breathe me back to life…

Miles

“It may be miles before the journey’s clear.  But the very hand that shields your eyes from understanding is the Hand that will be holding yours for miles. “ Nichole Nordeman

Our book club is reading Wild by Cheryl Strayer.  It’s about a young woman’s journey on the Pacific Crest trail…an eleven hundred mile journey, alone.  Alone as in all by herself.  No fellow traveler visible.

Years ago I read Hinds Feet on High Places, by Hannah Hunard.  Her journey to the High Places required solitude as well, but she was accompanied by two shadowy companions, Sorrow and Suffering.

Wow.  No thank you.

“It may be miles before the journey’s clear.  But the very hand that shields your eyes from understanding is the Hand that will be holding yours for miles. “

There is zero opportunity to flex the muscles of my faith unless I have circumstances that require faith.

Faith in a God who sees my future .  Faith that there is purpose to pain.  Faith that an unseen Hand is holding mine.  Faith that God is big enough to also be holding the hands of those I love.

Once again, I will yield.  Past experiences point with certainty to God’s provision ahead.

Even if sorrow and suffering are the shadowy figures next to me to guide me to the highest place.