Do you ever feel like you are feeling too much? Like who you are is in transition? Right now I am a messy mess of everything. It's like God has take all of me, ripped everything into little pieces and tossed them into the wind. None of it will make sense until it lands.
I have been in and out of the hospital all week. The pain and fear of other people is starting to pull me into an increased awareness of my own pain and fear. I feel the need for human comfort, for God's comfort, for reassurance, for Hope. How does Hope stand in the face of fear? How does it face life so bravely? A dear friend of mine is in the hospital, ripped from her vibrant life by a devastating illness. Through our tears, over the phone, I pray that she would know that God is with her, that she would know that He cares for her in this moment. I know that I care for her and that I feel pain for what she is going through. How much more then does her creator, compassionate father, and friend feel for her! He is the one who has carried her all this way, and He will carry her now. When we leave her, He is there. He has loved her and known her first.
For the last two days I have been carrying my unanswered questions to the trail by my house. I roll up my scrubs, take off my shoes, and walk and talk with God. I question, cry, sit in silence, and try to hear the still small voice of Him who made me. If God is who He says He is, then He constantly wants to talk with us! He can speak to us in every situation. So, I bring Him my best and my worst.
Yesterday evening I had this conversation with Him. "When will you heal us God? How much of us will you heal." Immediately I felt Him respond, "As much as you will let me heal." I do not pretend to understand what that means. All I know is that God's promises will be done.
I was thinking about Haiti last night and remembered the following description of what was like to be with those babies, with those people;
"Entering the Sisters of Charity orphanage is like staring into the face of hopelessness. You walk in, and in every crib there is one (or two) babies. Many of them cannot gather enough energy to move or to respond to your voice. You can see them, but their souls have withdrawn deep into their bodies. Many of them have not been held, they have lost the will to live. You have to hold them, speak Hope and Life into them. I was holding a little malnourished baby named Sergo. It took all day of singing over him, feeding him, and praying over him for him to actually respond to me. When I put him down, at the end of that first day, he reached his hand up to my face. Somehow I feel hopeful, even here where life has lost its meaning for so many. In my relationship with God I have a Hope, a future and a destiny that is waiting for me."
How strange that I had to go to a place of such severe hopelessness to know that my Hope is unshaken.
This is my confetti. These are my ups and downs. Where will this wind blow me? What will this look like when it lands? I do not know.
But...
I do have Hope. Nothing can separate me from the one who knows my name, from the one who is here with my now in this place of fear, stress, and sadness. I'm gonna go sit with Him now.
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