Friday, November 14, 2014

What Do We Do with Darkness..

I know in my head, but not in my heart. Yes, my identity is rooted in Christ theoretically. But functionally, I see it is rooted in my failure and weakness. Yes, God can be trusted: I would tell you I believe that because I know it to be true. But I don’t act like I do. Just because He is trustworthy, does not mean I trust Him. I know I should pray, but I don’t want to talk to Him. I know I should read His Word, but when I do, I just feel farther away.
I don’t meet His standards, His law is almost like to Greek to me when I am this dried up. I’ve never been so parched in all my life, and I know parched. I once was so dehydrated I needed 5 bags of IV fluid to get my strength back. This is so much worse.
This is the darkest night I’ve been through, and in the morning, it isn’t gone. The dawn doesn’t come..and the stars play hide and seek with me..I’m too tired to play. When I fall down in the mud, I want to stay down..because getting up requires that I expose it to Him and wash the grime off again. That bath is never a pleasant one until it is over..and even then, a nagging reminder that it ever had to happen is enough to send me spiraling down again. Into shame-filled lies that are somehow more comfortable than the gracious power of the truth.
What do we do with our faith when we wake up every morning with a knot in our throat that just won’t go away? What do we possibly say to the Life-giver when we wish that life would just end because it has become too much to carry? What do we do with our worship when prayer feels like an act, when songs of joy sound like mock performances to a God who knows I’m just masking my pain? When Job’s heart and life were falling apart, how could he say “blessed be the name of the Lord” and not feel like some sort of fraud? I know God knew His pain, but He could have stopped it. He could have kept him from those painful conversations with his friends that made him feel more alone. But He didn’t. Why?
You may say it was to bless him. But He could have blessed him anyway. Why the total heartbreak? The betrayal? Why the sickness and the grieving and the ruin of all of his hard work and plans? God had a purpose, yes. He blessed him in much greater measure afterwards, yes. But in the blackness of that suffering, how could he have possibly kept his faith that God was still good and still listening?
I’m still asking for the answer to that question. When I pass the so-called friends I had until they didn’t want me anymore. When I wake up miles away from my husband and sick with the temptation to run to an addiction that will numb my loneliness. When I hear news that family members are sick and scared and hurting. When hopes for the future are dashed, and my hard efforts in the present seem completely useless. When the bank account is running on empty, and my physical and mental energy is depleted more than ever before. I’m still asking. The question that the psalmist asked--the question the Savior asked on the cross. “My God, why have you forsaken me? Why are you so far from helping me? I cry all day and all night, and you don’t hear or answer.”
Maybe He does and I just don’t hear. Maybe He doesn’t and I just can’t see the reason why. In my head, I know I have a Father who loves me, who listens, who knows, and who cares. I know in my head He’s watching me write this, maybe even sharing the tears in my eyes. But, I’m still asking..because my heart doesn’t feel His presence and doesn’t believe the truth when the lies are so heavy and strong. The morning will come..but it hasn’t. And I don’t know when it will.


He does.

Friday, November 7, 2014

Bring Sweet Ashley home to a Forever Family!

I'm an Angel Tree Warrior


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