Sometimes I want to write because I get it; I understand, I comprehend and I want everyone to know what the Lord just showed me because it has probably just blown my little mind to smithereens.
But I don’t always get it, so what about then? What about the times when I’m standing before a mile-high pile of stuff to process and I don’t even know where to begin? What about when the sorting doesn’t come easy and the chaos in my head threatens to break loose from its seemingly controlled state? What about then?
Well it’s then that I write, too.
And here’s the thing: it’s not like I’m having difficulty understanding anything. Everything in my pile is pretty clear: I’ve finished the requirements for my degree, therefore I am graduating college; I have been called to The World Race, therefore I will go overseas for 11 months; My roommates’ lives are actually not forever physically attached to mine, therefore they will go other places and do other things without me; I will be out of the country for a year doing mission work, therefore dating someone right now is probably just the worst idea, for my heart and theirs. Etc. etc. etc.
So you see, it’s all very straightforward.
But it doesn’t feel straightforward. It feels difficult and rocky and it makes me well up with tears every 5 minutes. Change is hard. Letting go is hard.
My pile is high. It is wide and deep. There are monsters and snakes and it kind of feels like the scary maze from Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire sometimes, if we’re being honest. And God has not offered to whisk it all away, to show me the exact, easy route to the end of it, that his precious darling should not suffer it’s wrath.
“…but God disciplines us for our good, that we may share in his holiness. No discipline seems pleasant at the time, but painful. Later on, however, it produces a harvest of righteousness and peace for those who have been trained by it.” Hebrews 12:10-11
So fine, I’m in training. But knowing that doesn’t make it easier or more fun. It still feels like a 1000 lbs. anvil is lying on my chest.
**Insert picture of little pouty-faced Hannah with her arms crossed, stomping her little foot in defiance**
Earlier in Hebrews it says, “Let us fix our eyes on the author and perfecter of our faith…”
To fix: To stabilize, to secure, to settle definitely.
**light bulb goes off**
Let me set my eyes on You, O Lord, indefinitely.
My pile of junk might be a lot of things, but it is not You. It is not the source from which all things draw their breath. It is not the Author of this world and the Creator of my soul. How could I possibly think staring at the thing that houses all my many and innumerable issues would give me any clarity?
It is to You I set my gaze, longing to learn from you, to breathe every breath in you. And it is then, when I have come to sit at Your feet, a Mary among Marthas, that I will have peace. Peace, even if the pile is still there. Peace, as you slowly show me how to sort it all out. Peace is Your Name, a name I cling to; an outstretched hand I never want to let go of.
I originally set out to write this with a loose-ending; one of those “Still Under Construction” finales; kind of a “here are all my issues right now, do you have them too?” sort of thing. And then, funny enough, God gave clarity. That’s why I write; because when I do, He makes sense of my thoughts and makes my heartbeat a little more regular.
