I awoke with an ocular migraine the other day.
Really freaky. Like seeing lightning bolts in my field of vision distorted.
Although I had slept for eight straight hours I felt tired. My forehead ached. I couldn’t read very well because I couldn’t see very well so eyes shut I sipped my morning tea. Thankfully it was gone in a few moments after resting my eyes for a bit.
Waiting to see.
And in the darkness of lids closed I listened as my Michael read aloud. Like he does nearly every morning. Us beginning our day together with our God and His word. And him reading a bit of one of our favorite authors, Michael Phillips.
And words from Bold Thinking Christianity opened the eyes of my heart.
There’s nothing new in wondering about the meaning of life. Every high school and commencement speaker addresses what we call “priorities in life.” But I think most of our efforts and reflections tend to be short-sighted. What do I want to get done, achieve, work toward now, next week, next year? Where do I want to be five years from now, ten…even twenty?
Not only are we short-sighted, we are accomplishment, experience and pleasure driven. Affluent western modernism has infected us with a false sense of what is good and worthwhile. These three elements bring that faulty imbalance into stark clarity.
What can I get done?
What do I want to experience?
How can I carve out more time for personal leisure and pleasure?
Short-sighted! Vision limited. And me convicted especially by the first question.
For have I not been beating my brow in flustered activity to get more done with this blog? With my life?
So that I might help more women and experience a greater personal return for my efforts?
Leading to more time for fun things?
Yet growing weaker by the day for all my striving. Losing clarity of my calling. Life-joy draining.
Drip. Drip. Drip in a constant stream yet all the while God working quietly on multiple levels to get my attention.
Me doing it my way. Father letting His daughter learn the long way.
Words stirring murky in the back of my mind until His constant shining ignored broke into my dimness and the glass dark illumined so that I could see and proceed.
Blind-sighted by my own lack of perception and fear-filled doubting of the True One who is faithful. Letting go to a greater extent of those perceptions adopted in immaturity or laziness.
Loosening my grip so that I can find this one life He has made me for. Becoming a better daughter. A truer disciple.
Then Jesus said to his disciples, “If anyone wants to follow in my footsteps he must give up all right to himself, take up his cross and follow me. For the man who wants to save his life will lose it; but the man who loses his life for my sake will find it. For what good is it for a man to gain the whole world at the price of his own soul? What could a man offer to buy back his soul once he had lost it?” Luke 9:23-25
And this losing of my life as I have known it, as I have wanted it to be, takes devoted effort. And a little bravery. Or lunacy, some might say.
But I will let God have His way.
And embark upon the believer’s path more narrow than I have understood it to be.
Tossing out the ingrained thought patterns as they rear so that I may relearn life real. So that I can breath freely, see clearly as I think deeply, neural pathways rewired.
Lightning of His love like bolts bright and hot will split my heart wide open yet united to fear His name.
The fleeting will burn and ashes blow away upon the fresh wind filling my spirit holy. Fire cleansing as only fire can. And renewing, replenishing like a forest destroyed in flames so that new life reaches up out of the darkened earth soil fertile from fire.
And my life with Him never grows old not even after 29 summers have come and gone since that June day when I knelt in my bedroom alone and cried out to a God I did not know or understand or even completely believe in and begged Him to help my heart hard and hurting.
How was I to know back then what my journey would encompass. Of the tears, pain, and losses. And the incredible gifts, joys and surprising adventures. But He did, seeing the end from the beginning that is from before the foundations were set.
Me learning to walk and falling down a lot. Choosing poorly. Getting up only to fall down again. And learning. Scars reminding. Making better choices more obedient and trusting.
And all of these scars upon my heart tell you the story of who I am and where I’ve been. So many scars. So many stories.
Yet it’s my story filled with lessons covered by Love and written line by line one day at a time.
Part of His story never ending…