just reached out for the hem of His garment, and everything changed: halfway through month 3
08 Oct 2009 1 Comment
i need to be reminded of who i was when i took that first step out the door.
We began a journey without a roadmap, with some full measure of trepidation, one of my dearest friends and i; our trepidation was wise in hindsight, but equally as wisely we did not allow it to dictate the twists and turns of the journeys. We had some small idea of destination, some vainglorious hopes; we packed our bags lightly and hitch-hiked most of our way on the faith and investments of others. We determined to be brave, strong, courageous, vulnerable, foolhardy, but mostly we determined we would not, under any circumstances, return home the same. With a visionary for a guide, an old book for a comfort, and an idealist dream in our hearts, we set out to be changed, and to change the world on our way.
all i said now follows me around: i’m reminded, i’m not like that any more.
We planned the same plans, had the same starting place. Ready to run, maybe to even fly, we waited. Anticipated. We burst into the morning like runners out of the blocks and set a strong pace. We grew tired, grew faint, became hungrier for adventure; we were tantalised and taunted. There were days 20 chapters seemed like endless line of printed words on endless line of printed words, blurring steadily into near-meaninglessness. Some days i was certain i’d drunk so much water we could have floated noah’s ark in my stomach, but we never wanted to put the theory to the test. Some mornings didn’t seem like running mornings, and some afternoons our voices cracked from practising the same song over and over. But it was a beautiful song to the Lord, and so we kept singing. And at some point, we came to a fork in a beautiful road overhung with trees, heavy with hope, so we stopped and picnicked. Then consulting our guide, we set off on separate ways, each to beat our own paths and fight our own battles and join at the end.
i uprooted, and miles behind me are the faces and the home i love.
In some ways we left behind those we loved much in order to draw closer to one we loved more. We were ready to run and we had to make a choice: stay and walk slowly in circles, or leave and run. Reach mountain peaks, embrace the valleys, fall headlong into deeper waters than i’d known existed. Sunday mornings, Wednesday prayers, Friday fellowship ceased to be enough so long ago and “more” was the catch cry for too long. Being safe, being home, being content meant much, so little at the same time…and yet, i am not certain i weighed the choice or counted the cost enough. Now, having been journeying almost three months, i miss “safe”, but i have gained a new appreciation for all that is strong and familiar, and am cultivating a new sense of “home”, and it is simply this: being in His hands, not in my will.
You’ve brought to my attention i’m slowly changing, and becoming what i wanted to stop.
i left myself behind, all that seemed stable and secure, everything guaranteed. And everything that could be shaken, He shook; all that was left, He also shook. The ground beneath my feet could not be trusted, and even my own heart was treacherous. The frail self-reliance, misguided dutiful responsibilities, hidden damaged self esteem, fell away like sand through Your fingers. And when i feared being exposed, vulnerable, seen by the world as i truly am [as i had never seen myself] You shook that vanity from me too.
isn’t that just like a finite mind, setting out with such righteous indignation? now i’m at Your feet, can You look at me with:
some imagination?
We were bold and brave, Lord; You looked down the path ahead, noted the place we would briefly part ways, saw the shadows on the paths we would tread, saw the ambushes well-set by a dangerous defeated enemy, planned counter-attacks and holidays. We had no idea what we took on, and that may be a good and great thing. If we had seen – if i had seen – would i have even dared set foot outside my own front door? Now i have come to a mountain, to a cave, waiting for a great fire or a great wind or a great earthquake to hear Your voice from. And in the quiet that followed all these, You whispered. still. small. sweet. strong. Voice of the Living God. Here i stand, on the edge of a precipice. i see no wings, and You tell me to fly. i say i am not ready, will fall and be crushed and destroyed on the rocks below; You, with some faint note of humor, remind me You made the wind, You cast the stars, You set the boundaries of the seas. if You say there are wings, there are. And if there are no wings, Lord, i would just like to note that You better be good at catching. Which, of course, You are.
the bush before me, i slip my sandals off; i only stopped to look.
Slipped off the precipice, flew; caught the edge of Your cloak, watched from the ends of the world You setting the dawn free to rule the skies for a few minutes, was delivered from myself. And in some beautiful moment You set me down in a garden, and i caught sight of a bush burning there. i turned aside to see, found myself on Holy Ground, took my sandals off and fell facefirst on the ground and remained there a long time. When You raised me up the bush did not seem so bright as Your love burning in my heart, and i had become an I (in caps, someone loved) instead of an i (captive to insignificance)
so remind me why You woke me up, and why You wake me every morn;
In this last half-month of the journey change continues. There is still so much brokenness, but I am still hopeful, still waiting, still hungry – still caught up in the spirit of adventure. I forget why You wake me some mornings, but I am grateful nonetheless to be woken and raised to stand for one Kingdom while living in two worlds. I fear nothing, where I feared much before. Because as long as You look at me with some imagination, as long as I am Yours, nothing else matters. And half a month to go, I am full of anticipation. I who left home in filthy rags am learning how to live cloaked in Righteousness; I who lived blind and deaf too long am startled by wonderful color and overcome by the sound of Your sweet voice. “You break through my deafness, swing open the curtain. And I find the courage to get up and walk. I forget my weakness, You’ve answered my loneliness! Through the mud on my eyes, I can see: my Hope has come!”
* lyrics: Imagination & Get Up And Walk, both by Bethany Dillon
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