The Rescuer Always Wins

How do you find that restful peace when the world tilts upside down? How do you choose joy with the pointer finger poised and ready to "unfriend"? How do you push back the fear while tunneling back down to those life-pumping roots of faith?  After a pre-dawn text from my friend, the morning after the "big event", this message coming before the first sip of coffee, before the first creases of light slipped through the wood blinds, I knew I was undone. Groaning audibly, rolling over in bed, lungs reaching out for a bit of air, I feared the worst. Once I clicked the little round button, read her message, I yanked the covers over my head. Closed the eyes and fought back rising panic. Much like the rest of the world, a looming question mark hung above, dangling the unknown.

 But after a few days, the emotional tsunami subsided into a more resigned surrender of sorts, breaths coming out a bit less jagged, slightly less fierce. How can I step through this future without the faith? How can I take care of those around me, be present without judgment of their choice, their views? How can I find peace in the midst of this uncertainty, this unrest? After much elongated prayer and quiet time, after reading posts on Facebook, reading and watching the news, after talking with family and a few friends, I knew I needed rescue.

Today I glance out the kitchen window, see the divided sky, sun wrestling for position between the dark-bellied clouds, there's always a wrestling match between dark and light. I want to cast my vote for His light, his crowning yes on all that is good and true. So I am collecting the ransom money. To bring back my spirit, the inner peace, the faith in Him who works all things for good, and if I don't start collecting now, the emotional roller coaster wins, the fear wins, and all the "unfriending" will not feed the starving heart that feeds off Grace. The sun gained position, the sky brightens, glows even, and I think I might have a fighting chance.

The barista I saw yesterday, pain etched in her eyes, she said she was OK but her puffy eyes had something different to say. Pausing, forgetting about my coffee order I searched her face, leaned deeper into her sad, her not-OK state of being, she confessed her cancer stricken mom gave her the news the night before. My mind captured a picture of my daughter, I asked for her mom's name, I could pray. The creases around her eyes softened. Prayer wipes tears, kindness pushes back fear, a moment steeped in pause lifts the sad. That's ransom money! And my mind was free from "the big event" for a few moments!

The clouds have covered the sun, the afternoon sky now dimmed. And I think back to the barista, how her clouded face brightened a bit with the moment in pause, the sharing of pain always does that, especially when the light has grown dim, when the path ahead is dark and the unknown looming, the heart bruised a dark purple.

 It might take a little while to collect all that ransom money, but I cast my vote for His light. And if I reach down deeper in the pockets, hunt for the kindness and good, keep eyes focused on Grace, avoid the news for a bit, the newspaper too, maybe even Facebook, I can see a thinning of clouds on the horizon. A hint of peaceful, soul-filling light breaking through all the angst.

 The Rescuer always wins the wrestling match anyway.

Captured Bounty

He showed up today. Greeted us this morning with His signature grace. Right before election and we all needed this gentle reminder, this impromptu touch from above. This break from the stress and worry, minds whirling with all the what-ifs. My husband and I, we caught sight of that beautiful display this morning before wiring up to the news, the polls, the what-ifs and calculations. My daughter, she captured it on her phone, sent the message of grace to family. Our son, he caught his own taste miles away in Virginia where the trees are shouting glory. He texted his message of beautiful and I breathed it in, that life-pumping taste of His presence, His beautiful face shining on us, and lighting up Facebook too. We needed this today. This year we are worn at the cuffs, tired and weary of it all. Thank you for lifting our eyes, even for a moment.

I carried it around today, carried the phone, swiping every so often, touching the screen looking at  the images much like a three-by-five memory card, this reminder of how you showed up for us. Tucked those majestic scenes in that place inside that needs hope, that drinks in grace and mercy. Brought it out when the fear threatened to erase those visual images, before stepping out for ice cream with grand kids in the pouring rain, and before switching on the evening news. How I easily forget you are in control and we can let out the pent-up breaths and ease up a bit with the worry beads. 

And before going to bed, I gaze once more, this captured bounty I breathe it in, the limbs swollen with unabashed joy, telling Him in between each grateful breath. Thank you for whispering I love you in the morning sky.

~Grace can strike when you are in great pain and light you with the greatest hope~

Ann Voskamp

That Shining Light In The Dark

The sun streams through the window pane, this the first day of November. It leaves its beauty mark on the smudges  behind the stove top, the dusty glass and counter tops. The neighbor's Japanese maple is half-dressed now, the ground below dusted with a symphony of color. The tree does its best fashion show right when glints of autumn light splay across the crown of passionate shades of yellow and orange. Two gifts that never cease to give me pause.

The light that shows our dirt, the real gritty stuff, shining all over it, a laser beam into the deep hiding places and we cover our eyes, blinded we are by all that beautiful. And when you catch a breath you begin to hold out the shaky palm, the clean up begins. The dark places begin to take shape into something more recognizable and they have a bit more sparkle, more hope, more joy. And as sunglasses go back in the glove box for a season and the breaths come a bit steadier, the questions begin. What if all this light wasn't meant for me alone? Am I to share it while holding the breath? What is the real true purpose behind all that deep cleaning anyway? To help, to bend low, to share?

 I copied this message a few years back, a missive to myself to keep the eyes forward, to cling to hope and the struggle is richly good and pain is your favorite teacher. I see this reminder every day and I forget it every day. But He doesn't. When the season shifts, I reach for the sunglasses, settle them just so, blink at the blazing light, wait for the vision to clear. Maybe giving it away is walking on water. Is that Him wooing us through all that fear, hand patiently outstretched like an invitation to a surprise party? One with our name on the front.

Ann Lamott, one of my favorites wrote, "I have to believe if I do this, it will cause change-there will be more to give, and give means there is more light between the links. You never know exactly where the knot is going to release, but usually if you keep working with it, it will."

And then I notice that streak of light coming from the flash on the camera, how it caught my message above, how it runs right through the inky black writing I scribbled back when the pain began its rifling through and turning things upside down. Is that what happens? In the darkness those flashes of light are the developing process? Making us into beautiful? I think of Henri Nouwen who penned, "People who have come to know the joy of God do not deny the darkness, but they choose not live in it. They claim that the light that shines in the darkness can be trusted more than the darkness itself and that a little bit of light can dispel a lot of darkness. They point each other to flashes of light here and there, and remind each other that they reveal the hidden real presence of God." I take another look at that reminder, the beautiful make-over.

And later on this first day of November, this sun dipped day, I step out of the car with a grocery bag filled with items from the Dollar Tree, small things to bag up for the homeless, I can't help but notice the way the light glints on the Japanese maple. The limbs will soon bare all, but for this moment I rejoice in all that bright beauty. I take my sunglasses out of the car, set them on just so. And I breathe.