Sometimes don’t you just want to sing and dance through the streets at the wonder and glory of God? It’s early here – night sky that inky blue tinge with the promise of the sun, like the Heavens themselves are holding their breath; will the Sun show itself, or did it decide to stay home and put its feet up just for the day? I’d say after at least a billion years it might deserve a day of vacation, but that never happens. The sun always winks over the mountains and gently spreads itself over the rooftops until it gets to mine. And I’m filled with the simple joy of being.
If you’d have asked me three months ago “who ” I was, I would have answered without hesitation: I’m a runner, a writer, a volunteer, a veteran, an ex-nurse, a daughter, a sister, an aunt. Notice, please those are all description of what I do or did, how I live day to day. But they do not define me. In answering those questions, I missed one: I am a daughter of the King. How in the world did I leave that one out, because that one, that is perhaps the only one that matters?
I think that the hardest thing about being so sick this long (besides the fear of the unknown, the pastiness of my skin, and that I am now willing to leave the house without make up – Yikes!) is that, yet, again I gave lost my identity. Again. Now, I have posited other reasons for these years of -well, I’m just gonna pull on my big girl pants and name it for what it is – hell. But I think I’m on to something here, because I am just stubborn enough to dig in my heels and demand what I want, whether it’s good for me or not. Every now and again, I decide that I know better than Abba and start living like that. (Okay, does not mean I’m doing anything illegal or immoral. Wipe your minds clean.)
The headaches are my daily reminder that He is here and in control. These massive health crises, however, are my signals to bow, face to the floor, supplicant before His throne and revel in His glorious presence even if all I hear in return is silence. And believe you me, there is nothing but aching, yawning silence right now.
Now, I am an abstract thinker. I can read 4 books at the same time and remember the plot lines of each one. I’m just explaining this so that you’ll understand why I have never understood that little chickadee, my sister, L. While being super smart, L is a much more linear thinker than I. If a=b and b=c than a=c type thing. When L was in kindergarten, and I was 8, we had just moved back East from Arizona and were living in Maryland. My dad was travelling for business; so it was just Mom, L, M, and me sitting in Denny’s in an orange vinyl booth, the kind you stick to and make embarrassing sounds when you move. It was cold outside, and snow flurries drifted to the window and stuck to the glass. I loved those snow flurries, they looked like something an angel would breathe gently onto the window. I was so focused on the flurries I almost missed the table conversation.
My sister, like me is somewhat- uhm – height challenged. So, she still sat in a booster seat. L’s never been particularly chatty, but that night she was quieter than usual as she sat in her brown plastic booster contemplating philosophical questions much deeper than any of us knew she was even aware existed. All of a sudden, L piped up. “I’m God.” Let me just say that she was absolutely, completely confident in this announcement. (And to think I almost missed this by watching snowflakes!)
I could feel my eyes pop even as my brother stopped with his fork halfway to his mouth. and my mother sort of choked in the back of her throat. Later my mother said I gave her this look like, “So, what are you going to do about this one?” My sister had a reputation of announcing conclusions arrived at with flawless logic to reach completely improbable conclusions (in my opinion), but I had to say this particular announcement took the cake.
So, my mother calmly set her fork down, delicately patted her mouth clean then asked L where she had come up with that idea. L’s response, and again her logic was flawless. “God is in everyone. God is in me. I’m in this chair. God in is this chair. I’m God.” Well, huh, there was nothing to say to that. I turned back to the snowflakes, silently wishing my mother well in explaining how L’s flawless logic was completely flawed. The thing is, that in L’s innocence, she believed. She believed that God walked not only beside her but with her. While she didn’t have the terminology “Holy Spirit” she instinctively knew He was with her, in her, every second of everyday. He never abandoned her because He couldn’t. He was a part of her.
As children get older and exposed to other theologies, sometimes you watch their hearts and souls change. They no longer can see their heart-connection to the God in whom they were raised to believe. But what they don’t understand, is that beautiful heart-connection, once established, can never be severed. The Holy Spirit doesn’t leave; God doesn’t give up on us EVER, not for one single second. That thought has comforted me over the past few months, because I have felt His silence keenly. But maybe I’m just not looking in the right places. Maybe rather than speaking, He’s showing himself and in places I’m not looking; I have wonderful friends who come over when I can’t go out, my medical bills aren’t yet killing me, my friend from high school left his life for a weekend to help me, my mother has been with me for over 2 months, and I have yet to walk into to tree. (Believe me, that is a total real possibility.)
I know He is there, but His silence, well, I’ve never gone so long without hearing Him. He loves me, and just as when Jeremiah placed his faith in Him to feed and care for him when Jeremiah was terrified and ran after he had slaughtered the prophets of Baal, I believe. I still believe even when I am terrified of what lies ahead, even when I do not hear Him as I kneel in supplication. And the mere fact that I know He hasn’t left me, even if it’s simply head knowledge, the heart knowledge will return. It always does.
So, yes, I could dance, while my heart sang: Oh, Heavenly Father, Lord God, I believe. Help my unbelief.
The Unexpected Life 