Monday, September 3, 2012

Fighting Your Way Back Up~

"That's why I hate living in this world sometimes!"

The words tumbled out, wrapped around the tears gushing from my heart.

We stood at the front door, my husband and I.  There, on the front porch, a baby hummingbird, lying of its back, lifeless.

We had heard it hit; the sound of the impact propelling us to the door.

There, on the welcome mat, was yet another vivid, unwanted, unwelcome, reminder of sin.

Death.

It had been a week chock full of reminders.

Funerals.
Diagnoses.
Prayer requests.
Broken hearts.


And now, this.


I had had enough.
 

Enough of dying. 
Enough of crying. 
Enough of this world.



"It's just part of living in this world, honey.  You can't let it get to you like this."

Get to me?
It had already got me.
Hook, line and sinker. And sink, I did.

Down,

down,

down,

landing heart first in a spiritual funk.

Have you ever been there?

Surrounded by one heartache after another, it becomes difficult to see The One whose heart aches for all mankind.

Swallowed up in tears and sorrow, it is easy to lose sight of The One who swallowed up death, the man Jesus, the Man of Sorrows.

I struggled to find my footing, yet the quicksand of despair kept pulling me down.

I reached for scriptures to grab onto in hopes of pulling myself free, yet hopelessness kept the hope I needed out of my reach.

I knew I was lost, but I couldn't find my way out.

I knew where to run, but I couldn't find my way back home.

I knew The One I needed, and yet, I couldn't find God anywhere.

The rest of that day.

The next day.

The day after that.

A week and a half later.

Time marched on leaving me stuck in my funk,
faltering in my faith,
drowning in the darkness of an immense shadow that hid God's face.

Until, the day of yet another funeral.

Standing in a crowded room, I spotted her - the great granddaughter of the precious lady who had died. And, she spotted me.
 

Without thinking, I started making my way to her, as she weaved her way through one person after another in her quest to reach me.

We met in the middle.

I knelt down in front of her. She buried her head in my neck and we held each other.  This six year old and I, locked in sorrow.

"I love you."

It was all I could say.

"I love you more," came her reply.

With that, we looked at each other and smiled.

"I don't know," I said with a grin.  "I love you more than more."

"I love you most," she said, as she hugged me even tighter, leaving no room for debate.

Then, looking me in the eye, she whispered, "She's ok now.  She's not here, but she's ok now, isn't she?"

I nodded my head "yes".

And, as I did, I felt it hit; the impact of this truth propelling me straight to the door of God's heart.

Here, amongst the wages of sin and the very sting of death, was a vivid, desperately needed, more- than-welcome reminder of the gift of our God.

No more sickness. No more sorrow. No more tears.

Eternal life,

in and through,

Christ Jesus our Lord.

As I hugged this precious girl once more, I found my footing. Standing to my feet, I felt the firm foundation of my faith holding me up once again.

Wiping my tears, I felt God's love wash over me as I saw once again His face - the face of grace.

The words tumbled out, wrapped around the gratitude bursting forth from my heart.

"He loves us most of all.
That's why we're living for Jesus,

for.

ALL.

time."




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