There are days when you try and make yourself quit rushing around doing nothing, but even when your exterior’s still, your interior — every inch of your inmost being — squirms. You squirm because you’re just stinkin’ uncomfortable, because the things God’s unearthed in your heart are things you’ve been avoiding and now they’re in your face and you can’t brush by them any longer.
My kiddos are exhausted from travel and napping sweetly today, so I’ve sat and tried to still myself. But I’ve gravitated more toward the numbness and borderline complacency I can sometimes achieve in mindlessly scrolling through news feeds on Instagram or Facebook. In between attempts to bury my head in the sand, I’ve emailed a few people, taken a couple of calls, and found these words from the heart of a dear friend to be a God-given momentary haven.
And somewhere in all my flurry of not wanting to be still, I’ve poured out my heart to the Lord. A lot.
Y’all, this is so not how I planned to re-enter the blogging world after a month of mostly silence. But this is where I am, so this is what I have to offer today. My Raw.
I’m crazy passionate about the extravagance of the Gospel, how the truth of it can be applied like salve over raw wounds and gaping circumstances, how it soothes and heals, sets free and whispers peace. And I absolutely still believe the finished work of Christ’s death and resurrection is more than enough for my heart, but I haven’t yet found the right way to apply the Gospel to the newly realized broken places inside me. The way that’ll bring wholeness.
And maybe it’s not time to find it yet.
In the last month, my heart’s been turned upside down like plowed soil and I imagine this makes me fertile ground for the Holy Spirit to come in and have His way, that His beauty will eventually spring up from all this churned up dirt.
But right now, there’s no easy resolution.
Yet in it all, I know He offers peace if I’m fixed on Him. In it all, I know the working and moving of His hand in our lives are trustworthy. So I hang onto the fierceness of His commitment to me, to us, and lean into the discomfort of all His shifting and revealing of my deep places. Because if this is what He’s up to, then this is where He’s inviting me to encounter Him.
So in everything that’s unresolvable and unforeseeable and unanswerable, I look for Him. Expecting to see Him appear next to me in the fire. And whether or not I come out unscathed, I’ll find myself covered by Him — seen, known, understood, fully immersed in His affection.
And that’s enough.
And somewhere in all my not neatly put together thoughts today, I pray you know His all-seeing affection as enough too. More than. Because He is.
Happy New Year, dear friends. Can’t wait to walk together again here.