walking down the road
this morning i laid my head down on the kitchen table and listened to a song that was sent to me by a friend who knows me well.
i struggle with God. I struggle with myself and God, I struggle with allowing my heart to go to Him, to rest in Him. And yet I carry this oddly comforting sense of inevitability. First love, forever love, love that is all that love could ever be. This love He has for me is the kind of love there is no escaping from. I don't want to escape... I don't. I don't, because I know it is all that is. But it is as if I am relearning how to live in it. With so much upheaval and so much reevaluation and so many dramatic changes in my life (WHEN DID MY EYES TURN HAZEL?!), I find myself walking along a very dusty path, occasionally hollering up towards Heaven, reminding Him that believe it or not, I still care that He loves me and, believe it or not, I still love Him. I lug around my enormous Bible, instead of relying on the Ugly Green Bibles on Tues. nights. I dust of my lovely icon of the burning hearts that love me. I hold Daniel close and pray hard. These are all awkward little things that may not seem like much. They are little things that mean something, though.
You know what else? I always imagined and heard these profound falling away/coming back/prodigal son stories... I don't feel like that. I don't feel like I fled God and sinned a whole bunch and then found myself miserable and fleeing BACK to God. I feel like I fled from myself and God was always with me, waiting for me, watching me, crying for me, holding my hand when I would let Him. And now I'm letting Him hold me more often, I am allowing Him out of another one of those boxes we're always shoving The Infinite into. It feels strange, when I think about it, to even call God "Him." God.... is. Male, female, neither one. Bigger than that. Bigger than me and closer than any name we could give.... Him? (I'm getting off track a bit... but maybe not. I've been thinking about that for awhile.)
What I mean to say is this: I laid my head down on my kitchen table this morning and closed my eyes and didn't say any words. Just rest for three minutes.
after the fire is over
after the ashes cool
after the smoke is blown away
i will be here for you
after the stillness finds you
after the winds of change
all that is good and true between us
this will remain the same
slowly
slowly
we turn the page of life
growing
knowing
it comes at quite a price
after the fire is over
after the ashes cool
after the smoke is blown away
i will be here for you
and after your time of wandering
along this lonely road
there will be many voices calling
mine will say, "welcome home."
i struggle with God. I struggle with myself and God, I struggle with allowing my heart to go to Him, to rest in Him. And yet I carry this oddly comforting sense of inevitability. First love, forever love, love that is all that love could ever be. This love He has for me is the kind of love there is no escaping from. I don't want to escape... I don't. I don't, because I know it is all that is. But it is as if I am relearning how to live in it. With so much upheaval and so much reevaluation and so many dramatic changes in my life (WHEN DID MY EYES TURN HAZEL?!), I find myself walking along a very dusty path, occasionally hollering up towards Heaven, reminding Him that believe it or not, I still care that He loves me and, believe it or not, I still love Him. I lug around my enormous Bible, instead of relying on the Ugly Green Bibles on Tues. nights. I dust of my lovely icon of the burning hearts that love me. I hold Daniel close and pray hard. These are all awkward little things that may not seem like much. They are little things that mean something, though.
You know what else? I always imagined and heard these profound falling away/coming back/prodigal son stories... I don't feel like that. I don't feel like I fled God and sinned a whole bunch and then found myself miserable and fleeing BACK to God. I feel like I fled from myself and God was always with me, waiting for me, watching me, crying for me, holding my hand when I would let Him. And now I'm letting Him hold me more often, I am allowing Him out of another one of those boxes we're always shoving The Infinite into. It feels strange, when I think about it, to even call God "Him." God.... is. Male, female, neither one. Bigger than that. Bigger than me and closer than any name we could give.... Him? (I'm getting off track a bit... but maybe not. I've been thinking about that for awhile.)
What I mean to say is this: I laid my head down on my kitchen table this morning and closed my eyes and didn't say any words. Just rest for three minutes.
after the fire is over
after the ashes cool
after the smoke is blown away
i will be here for you
after the stillness finds you
after the winds of change
all that is good and true between us
this will remain the same
slowly
slowly
we turn the page of life
growing
knowing
it comes at quite a price
after the fire is over
after the ashes cool
after the smoke is blown away
i will be here for you
and after your time of wandering
along this lonely road
there will be many voices calling
mine will say, "welcome home."