Friday, July 8, 2016

When Peace Rained Down~

I sat in the floor of the hallway, my hand doing what the rest of me wanted to do - rubbing this space of carpet where you last were, hoping so desperately to be able to touch you instead of these woven fibers. In my mind's eye, I could see you there, and I longed to hug you, to reach my hand out to you and lift you back up to your feet.  To hold you and be held by you.  To bury my head in your neck and be engulfed by your scent and wrapped in your arms.
But instead, I found myself alone with carpet, an empty doorway leading to the bathroom, and a whole lot of questions and a heart spilling over with wishes.  And, I cried.  And, then I moaned.  And, then my sorrow turned to out loud wailing.  I couldn't stop it.  How do you suppress a force stronger than the ocean?  So, I let it all out.  For the umpteenth time since you've been gone, Handsome, I sat where you were last and I wept til I could hardly breathe.
Only today, Handsome, I didn't weep alone.  As I surrendered to the weight of my missing you and rolled off of my knees onto my back, looking up at the ceiling, I heard it.  Sprinkled in with my sobs, I could hear the pitter-patter of rain drops on the skylight in the bathroom.  And, I knew down in the deepest place of my heart, this wasn't a brief afternoon shower, this was the very God of Heaven weeping with me.
It brought me to my feet and straight out to the patio.  As the droplets fell from the sky, so did my tears.  For the first time since you've been gone, God and I cried together.  His sorrow not removed from my own, but right there in the hallway and right there on the patio with me.
And I remembered the story of Lazarus and the tears God wept then.  Not tears because He was supposedly too late and Lazarus was dead, but tears that flowed from a heart overcome with the sorrow spilling out of the hearts of Lazarus' sisters, Mary and Martha.  The very same God who knew in the next few moments Lazarus would walk in newness of life wept tears with those who wept.  He was touched by their sorrow.  And tonight - like I'm sure every moment since you've been gone, God was touched by my sorrow.  I know because my spirit  - which is home to His Spirit in me - testified to this very fact.
And the comfort that came as my tears intermingled with these droplets of Heaven can not be explained.  There is not a word in this world to capture the moment, to describe the communion, to adequately convey the immersion of my sorrow into His and His into mine.
The Most High God came to me in my most low moment and wept with me.  Not tears because He was supposedly too late and you are gone, but tears that flowed from a heart overcome with the sorrow spilling out of my heart.  The very same God who knows in the blink of an eye this life will be over and we will be together face to face for all eternity wept tears with me while I wept.
Our creator God, the very one who bent low and scooped dust in His hands to form the first man, remembered I am dust.  The Breath of Life, the very one who breathed into each of us the breath of life, knew how sorrow and death and separation from you makes taking my next breath feel impossible sometimes.  Our Abba Daddy, the very one who loves me with a love that knows no end, who understands my heart like no one else, and who understands the true extent and depth of my grief, felt my overwhelming sorrow.
He remembered.
He knew.
He felt.
And, He wept with me.
And then, the great I am, oh so gently, and yet, oh so very powerfully, reminded me of this truth:
Resurrection and Life 2-
And, as the raindrops and the tears flowed down my cheeks, my praise flowed upward and outward from a heart overflowing with hope and thanksgiving.  They met in the middle - sorrow and praise, grief and thanksgiving - and out of their union, peace rained down.
Beautiful peace.
Not the peace the world gives, but the peace that can only be found in the blessed hope we have in and through Jesus Christ, our Lord.
What a precious moment.  What a precious Savior.
If only you could have been here to feel it.  If only you could.
(Sharing from my other blog, "If Only I Could . . .")






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