It is peculiar, how this faith thing works. How in the middle of a hurricane comes a calm. How the twisted turns of life brings out a dependence from depths long kept inside. A peculiar road, when I walk with simply air under my feet.
It’s funny, how I can’t put words to what I’m experiencing in what should be the screaming terror of my heart. You are buoying me so the break in me isn’t so bad.
I can’t fathom this experience. That You are giving me Your grace to get through. That just when I feel I am about to slip into the abyss of this dark drape of soul, hurt poised to hammer me hard, You hold out Your hand and stay the pain at bay.
Where this should be the most terrible stretch of heartbreak I have ever experienced, because it most certainly is, You are, incredibly, keeping me from sinking. You are holding firm my feet so they don’t slip, just like You say you do in Your Word. But I am experiencing it for the first time—everything You’ve promised to Your children, now You are sharing with me. I am experiencing You in ways I never fathomed and in ways never expected. Did I imagine my life would look like it is? Never. Did I ever think that my heart would fall in impossible ways, and crack open because it has so willingly welcomed love?
I don’t know how You are sustaining me, Lord. I really don’t. It is crazy. I remember laying in my bed at night, darkness not only surrounding my room but my soul, crying out to You to be real to me, to show Yourself to me in a new way because what I knew wasn’t working for me anymore. For months, that was my cry in the night of my faith; it stretched over a year.
And now, here in the middle of this heart wrenching, You answer. Unfathomable. I have to admit, I am a bit confounded, astonished at the thought that You, the God of this universe and beyond, would bend down to lay with me in my discomfort. That You would breathe with me where I gasp.
It is a constant trial, a faith walk where all I can muster is to stand on shaky legs and trust You will hold me upright. Every day, completely dependent on You and how You’ll fight for me. How You’ll arrange my ways and work out all things for my good. Because You care for Your children. Because You care for me, Your daughter, whom You deem precious.
How are You giving me such—I don’t know if peace is the right word—but such a level calm when my world around me is in such turmoil? It all seems like juxtaposition, when all evidence points to breakdown but You are building smooth.
I don’t feel strong. I know any strength I feel is Yours; I have nothing to give. I feel weak right now, but this is where You meet me and hoist me onto Your shoulders, where I rest in Your arms. For one more hour, one more day.
This is a peculiar road I travel. A peculiar feeling to find joy in the midst of the jarring. And yet, and yet, I do not fear this walk, the shadows, the uncertain footing.
Oh Lord, You lead. And I have to simply surrender and follow and let You direct my heart. You hold me, in peace that passes all my understanding. One day, I will see with clear eyes the prize this pain has won me. I will say with well-gained certainty that indeed, the joy of the Lord has become my strength.
Nehemiah said, “Go and enjoy choice food and sweet drinks, and send some to those who have nothing prepared. This day is holy to our Lord. Do not grieve, for the joy of the Lord is your strength.”