Abide with Me
I had a friend tell me once that while all eyes are on the bride, she loves to watch the groom just to see his face the first time he sees her.
Sometimes I do this with the sunset. While the sky lights up orange and pink and the sun sinks over the horizon, I’m watching the gathering dusk in the east. On the best nights, the clouds reflect back the colors of the sunset in shades of darkness. And I feel my spirit there in the eastern sky, wondering how long I will be held here before dawn breaks again. Wondering if the sun will rise.
It’s a curious thing when out of the depths you are crying for the God of the Universe to be as real as you think He is while you cross your arms and refuse to let Him close enough to prove it... when your fear and your want are dueling it out, and your heart is caught in the crossfire. It isn’t as if you’ve never been here before. You know how expectation always ends: wretched disappointment and shattered hope. You have decades of experience in protecting yourself from the fallout. Your walls have walls.
But then I think: Israel waited 400 years for a King, and You took up Your crown in a stable. All eyes were on the bride as she waited… did we recognize the Groom?
So what will this sunrise even look like?
How is it that these gifts we long for so seldom resemble our expectations? How do we hold out hope for what we cannot see when the unveiling of the promise is a living paradox? And here where lavender and smoke swirl out across the heavens, the hopes and fears of all the years are met in me tonight.
The thing is, you can’t live in the middle of the intersection forever. (Just, you know. Years.)
On 8/30/15, He set my feet on a path: abide with Me. I didn’t understand it. Sometimes I’m still trying to grasp it. The words and the implications and the complex simplicity of it all. I live in a world of break it, fix it, stumble, rush, fall, explain, rebuild, plan, bridge, move, live to tell about it and die another day (then wash, rinse, repeat). Where does abide even fit? Do I squeeze You in before my morning coffee? Do we chat over cold fries that are forgotten on my passenger seat because I’m on to the next thing before the last three are done? Do I seek Your face with my screen-burnt eyes over the tops of my monitors? Where does abide fit for the 3 AM phone calls?
And (let’s be honest), what part of a holy God wants any part of what I am desperately clinging to. These last vestiges of my heart aren’t even worth Your time. Move along, God. The girl three pews down has more to offer, and she is some kind of put together that this hot mess can’t handle. She didn’t walk in at 11:05 clutching her coffee like a lifeline, and she probably still has her shoes on.
So here we come down to the real thing, God. What if what I have is not enough? Like, intellectually, I get what You’re offering. But in the practical, it doesn’t even make sense. And not in a way that makes me think, “Wow! How cool are You!” But more like a way that makes me think, “I’m not sure I can trust a God who takes a look at the minuscule offering I have and thinks, ‘Yep. She’s the one. Go die for her.’” Except You did.
So Sunday, my pastor shared this, “The sum total of your decisions make up the character of who you are.” (Loosely quoted because sometimes I can’t read my own handwriting.) [Seth Alexander, 11/26/17, “The Book of Malachi: Who Cares? What is Your Decision?”]. He gave a stellar sermon, and you can listen to it online to milk it for all the wisdom he had to offer. And God said, “It’s always about choice. The greatest love I ever gave you was the free will that allows you to love me. It’s a choice, Kayla.”
You asked me for a choice, and the terrifying truth is I’m out of time not to be ready to make it. I can feel that down to the marrow of my bones. This time You’re lighting up the eastern sky, and You’ll have Your rightful place, and no one will be looking at the bride but you. “Abide with Me” sounds more and more like “on earth as it is in heaven.”
What else can my response be but “yes”? After all, You made me. If all I to offer isn't enough, I will inch myself toward the hope that You are enough. That what I lack can still be made complete in You. That You will love me anyway. And that You are just going to take all that is wrong and make it right. I don't know how this is going to look, but I will stand my ground where hope can be found.
Sometimes I do this with the sunset. While the sky lights up orange and pink and the sun sinks over the horizon, I’m watching the gathering dusk in the east. On the best nights, the clouds reflect back the colors of the sunset in shades of darkness. And I feel my spirit there in the eastern sky, wondering how long I will be held here before dawn breaks again. Wondering if the sun will rise.
It’s a curious thing when out of the depths you are crying for the God of the Universe to be as real as you think He is while you cross your arms and refuse to let Him close enough to prove it... when your fear and your want are dueling it out, and your heart is caught in the crossfire. It isn’t as if you’ve never been here before. You know how expectation always ends: wretched disappointment and shattered hope. You have decades of experience in protecting yourself from the fallout. Your walls have walls.
But then I think: Israel waited 400 years for a King, and You took up Your crown in a stable. All eyes were on the bride as she waited… did we recognize the Groom?
So what will this sunrise even look like?
How is it that these gifts we long for so seldom resemble our expectations? How do we hold out hope for what we cannot see when the unveiling of the promise is a living paradox? And here where lavender and smoke swirl out across the heavens, the hopes and fears of all the years are met in me tonight.
The thing is, you can’t live in the middle of the intersection forever. (Just, you know. Years.)
On 8/30/15, He set my feet on a path: abide with Me. I didn’t understand it. Sometimes I’m still trying to grasp it. The words and the implications and the complex simplicity of it all. I live in a world of break it, fix it, stumble, rush, fall, explain, rebuild, plan, bridge, move, live to tell about it and die another day (then wash, rinse, repeat). Where does abide even fit? Do I squeeze You in before my morning coffee? Do we chat over cold fries that are forgotten on my passenger seat because I’m on to the next thing before the last three are done? Do I seek Your face with my screen-burnt eyes over the tops of my monitors? Where does abide fit for the 3 AM phone calls?
And (let’s be honest), what part of a holy God wants any part of what I am desperately clinging to. These last vestiges of my heart aren’t even worth Your time. Move along, God. The girl three pews down has more to offer, and she is some kind of put together that this hot mess can’t handle. She didn’t walk in at 11:05 clutching her coffee like a lifeline, and she probably still has her shoes on.
So here we come down to the real thing, God. What if what I have is not enough? Like, intellectually, I get what You’re offering. But in the practical, it doesn’t even make sense. And not in a way that makes me think, “Wow! How cool are You!” But more like a way that makes me think, “I’m not sure I can trust a God who takes a look at the minuscule offering I have and thinks, ‘Yep. She’s the one. Go die for her.’” Except You did.
So Sunday, my pastor shared this, “The sum total of your decisions make up the character of who you are.” (Loosely quoted because sometimes I can’t read my own handwriting.) [Seth Alexander, 11/26/17, “The Book of Malachi: Who Cares? What is Your Decision?”]. He gave a stellar sermon, and you can listen to it online to milk it for all the wisdom he had to offer. And God said, “It’s always about choice. The greatest love I ever gave you was the free will that allows you to love me. It’s a choice, Kayla.”
You asked me for a choice, and the terrifying truth is I’m out of time not to be ready to make it. I can feel that down to the marrow of my bones. This time You’re lighting up the eastern sky, and You’ll have Your rightful place, and no one will be looking at the bride but you. “Abide with Me” sounds more and more like “on earth as it is in heaven.”
What else can my response be but “yes”? After all, You made me. If all I to offer isn't enough, I will inch myself toward the hope that You are enough. That what I lack can still be made complete in You. That You will love me anyway. And that You are just going to take all that is wrong and make it right. I don't know how this is going to look, but I will stand my ground where hope can be found.
Comments
Post a Comment