These recent months have shown an elongated winter, too cold and dim for both our bodies, too few glimpses of the warmth and light for our souls.
Too many new medicines, too many assumptions, too many needles, too many wrong words and not enough right ones.
Too many friends and family holding up their hands claiming ignorance, ….but knowledge isn’t needed to encourage, to love, to be there….
The emotion in my mother’s eyes mirrors my own: people seem to give up on those who can’t keep up.
Our homes become houses again as our life is pulled out from underneath us, the decor falling off the walls, the structure wavering, the colorful paint revealing the truth beneath.
And these empty walls bare the same decor of the hurting hearts. We share the same searching from the place love should abound, but it’s all just black roses that fall to the ground.
These circumstances come thick as thieves, stealing joy and might and life; who knew that liveliness and love could be carried away on the back of a few cutting words. These sleepless nights, and these surrendered rights–humanity is one big soul aching for a peace that consumes all.
But the more you hide, the louder it is. And your deserted house only echoes now.
The frames fade away as well; the hanging pictures are just memories of stolen life. The windows replaced with bars over our independent hearts.
And now new brain tests and more blood tests, and you can’t throw something away that you can’t willingly control; you can’t throw the towel in when it’s not yours to pick up in the first place.
Today I made it several places and back, but yesterday Ethan carried me to the couch. Many might share it with me, walking in with a smile but leaving while hiding tears, because almost, but not yet. Almost….
It’s not yet morning, the house still covered in night’s blanket of black. It’s hard to see when it’s so dark in the place we’re at, our tunnel vision always blurring our focus.
And this darkness…this is where each person stumbles and cries out, where many are lost and hope is relinquished. Though site was lost from his eyes, the beggar didn’t stop listening for Jesus’ voice and waiting eagerly for His healing hands. Eth reminds me, when it’s dark, you don’t stop following the voice just because you can’t see the face. His voice is vital to our earnest ears, our motivation for each step.
I am with you. One step.
I will strengthen you. One step.
and help you. One step.
I will never leave you. One step.
nor forsake you. Another step.
A lamp unto our feet. And the darkness has not overcome it.
But big changes never stop at just that… each shift in our journey, each shattering window and each tumbling wall, only is followed by a new, stronger piece being rebuilt.
He who began a good work in you… If our foundation was laid in him, we never have fear of falling ourselves.
Will carry it on…and keep carrying it on…
Until the day of completion… just because you’re not complete yet doesn’t mean you’re not already a masterpiece…you see, God held the blueprints way before he laid the first star in the sky…and he is constantly working to make each house a home for Him…
never letting one detail fall through the grip of his fingers.
Our houses? Well we won’t find them completely crumbling, not matter how broken, how messy, how awful they appear, because our Foundation will always be forever firm.
And the breaking down only means another opportunity to be built bigger, stronger, and more beautiful. A new creation will never come to be if the old isn’t first broken down and slowly rid of.
Sometimes our hearts lose the war we waged to fight against this feeling of losing ourselves, only to learn we were fighting for the old and average version, while God was trying to bring the new and beautiful.
Sometimes the road is long and the tunnel is dark, and God seems distant, invisible, and silent.
But though the worker stay quiet, the job is still getting done.
Sometimes God meets life where it took what was mine,
and the broken and the beautiful become intertwined.
We haven’t lost everything.
It’s just time to start the rebuilding.
Our Father has come to make a home.