At the end of a boardwalk, a father and daughter stood. Her feet placed between two pieces of wood and she leaned over the banister. He stood behind her to be the extra security he knew she would want to feel secure. The ocean and sand met and the stars danced in the moonlight. The father spotted the milky way and was using his finger to guide her little eyes along the skyline.
“Do you see it?” he asked.
“No, Dad I don’t,” she responded.
He tried a different method to help her eyes see what he saw and asked her again, “do you see it?”
Again, she would say, “no.”
Back and forth the conversation would go. He would ask her if she saw it and she would say no. He would let his finger trace the outline of the stars, again, and again. Oh, how he longed for her eyes to see the bright light of the stars dancing in the dark of the night.
~
This year was hard. I say “this year” on this rainy day in May because it was not too long after this time last year that I entered into maybe one of the hardest seasons of my life. I know, the phrase “of my life” arises question immediately in some of you who have been tracking with me for a while now. You know about the loss of my father and you know about the years my two older brothers fought against drug addiction. Those years were hard in a different kind of way. The kind of hard that was almost solely external factors. There did not seem to be much room for self-evaluation in those times. It was more of heartbreak for the hopeless of my brothers. It was the unfolding of grief in my siblings in different ways. The chaos was normal and my survival skills were impeccable. I function well in the chaos. The chaos is grounds for me to lace up my bootstraps and lead the charge.
When everything seems to be falling apart, I would not be the one to fall apart. I would be the one who would make it her undying responsibility to do whatever I could to be the superglue to hold together what was there, even if it was brokenness.
The tides changed though. The storm subsided. The aftermath came with a cool breeze and a hush. Everything that was externally happening had resolved itself through Jesus healing and restoring. My presumed role of stability I had given myself to play was no longer a needed part of the story. It was never needed to begin with, Jesus was capable of that all along, but it left me in a place of no longer being able to ignore dealing with me. I could unclench my fist. I had been thinking I needed to hold everyone else together, friends, family, even strangers, and the release was freeing but came with a borderline identity crisis and fifteen years’ worth of feeling that I had stiff-armed.
I doubted my giftings constantly. Fear had gotten a hold of my mind and it consumed me. Fear being in control of your mind is automatically going to result in anxiety. For a few weeks, every night, I would find myself heart racing, palms sweating, incapable to settle down to go to sleep. Insomnia became a word I didn’t just know about but understood in a way I never hoped to. Hard conversations with friends were happening more than they had in my entire life. Those conversations were all results of me just fearing that my community would walk away when they realized the fragile place I was in. I believed the lie that if I couldn’t play this role of stability, they would no longer have a need for me (classic enneagram 3 right there believing you are loved for what you do.)
Then there was the repressed grief that was surfacing. I’ll spare you all those details. They are enough to fill a chapter in a book (insert emoji winking at you here). I will also spare the details because I am still sifting through what is meant to be shared and what isn’t. There are things that the Lord only intends to be for you. As much as the society feels the need to share it all, me included, there are moments that come with what I like to call unspeakable intimacy. Moments with the Lord that are so intimate that you can never even speak them out loud.
I will tell you that there was a night in November where I sat in a friends living room at 2 am confessing that my belief in the Lord’s goodness has never been attacked the way it had that previous week. I was angry, yet crying, explaining to her that I get so tired of having to deal with the same thing over and over. She did as any good friend would do and reminded me of truth that my heart needed to hear from the mouth of another because mine was not capable to speak it out over myself at the time.
I couldn’t understand where all of these things were coming from and why they were all coming at once until I realized that this was the first time ever that I could no longer avoid going internal and digging deep. This was the calm after the storm and everything that I turned a blind eye to in the midst of a struggling family was in plain sight.
Don’t you ever just want to say, “seriously Lord, can I catch a break?” I was becoming so aggravated by the number of things He was revealing to me. My weary heart felt like the torrential downpour of the rain was never going to end. My feet were scaling rocky places and I was exhausted.
Today, I opened my windows to listen to the pitter patter of the rain while I did some things in my room. In an instant, it was like the Lord starting bringing everything thing to mind that happened this past year but not the ones mentioned above.
He was bringing the image of high school girls sitting on a carpeted floor because this past year I got to be a part of starting Gather, a ministry for high school girls.
He was bringing to mind the truths that came out of my mouth into a microphone because this past year I had the chance to communicate more than I ever have.
He was bringing to mind lunch and coffee dates with new friends that my path intersected with this past year.
He was bringing to mind a Thursday afternoon driving around the city the of McDonough with a woman who has invested in me this past year.
He was bringing it all to mind and I could see that the rocky places were not ground marked by caution tape that was meant to steer everyone away from where I was. The rocky places are capable to bring forth life.
I have been sitting in Psalm 23 the last couple months preparing for camp. I have taken these 6 verses apart and dug my heels into them.
“He makes me lie down in green pastures, he leads me beside quiet waters.” Psalm 23:2
In Israel, where David would have most likely been when he wrote this Psalm, the image you have in your head of green pastures is not what it actually is. A green pasture is actually a rocky, barren, and brown area. What happens is that there is a small amount of moisture and a little bit of rain every year. There is humidity in the air and the little bit of rain combined with the moisture in the air will drip along the edges of the rocks. It is just enough water that you will get spouts of green grass. A shepherd will look for a hillside and the lead the sheep there and let them go and look for what little bit of grass they can find. The rocky places are where the life and nourishment came forth for the sheep.
For us, we must not believe that lie that our rocky places are not producing something. We must not believe that something is not growing there. God does not need smooth seas or perfectly plowed land in order to cultivate something that is life-giving.
We talk about the rain like it is a bad thing. Until now, I thought it was. But that torrential downpour that I thought I was standing in all last year – it was watering things. Instantaneously, I stared face to face with the fruit that was being grown. He is the Gardner, delighting in pulling up the weeds, removing the things that are harming us, in order to make room for the crops He has always intended for us to experience.
Therefore, I intend always to remind you of these qualities, though you know them and are established in the truth that you have. 2 Peter 1: 12
Peter, the disciple who claimed Jesus as the Messiah and with the same breath denied him three times. The same disciple who walked on water only to seconds later doubt. This is the writer of this verse telling us that he intends to constantly remind us of the truth that we already know and are even established in him. I have to think that Peter is recalling how many times the Lord reminded Him of truth He already knew. Peter knew we would need to be reminded because he needed to be reminded.
You know that God does not waste anything. You know that He brings beauty from the ashes. You know that He is good. You know that He sees you. You know, but sometimes you just need to be reminded.
I want to remind you.
Hear me say tonight that the rain is not going to be the end of you. In fact, it probably bringing forth a new beginning. Hear me say that not only does life come from the rocky places but nourishment does too. Hear me say that you don’t see it but He is up to something.
Right now, you might just the see the rain and feel the heartache but know that the God of heaven will relentlessly work to make your eyes see what He sees.
In time, you will see it.
~
The daughter looked up to her father and through shame said, “I just don’t see what you see. It is too dark.”
In his kindness and patience, the father again pointed up the stars and told the little one, “you keep looking out and you have to look up.”
“Do you see it?”
Her eyes found the stars and wide-eyed and mystified she stared, in awe of how bright the night could be if you look to the right place.
“I see it!’ she exclaimed.
The father rejoiced but reminded her, “I was going to stay right here with you until you did.”
You dear one are the daughter at the end of the boardwalk and the Father sees more than you do. He sees what you are incapable to see. But He isn’t going anywhere. He wants you to see it.
