I don’t mind the storms in Africa. The thunder thick clouds, the wind-whip and the rumble.
A split spark of lightening in the blue-bruised sky.
The ferocious thrashing of rain in sheets. The way it washes the dirt clean.
The way the rainy season makes the world reborn.
And the calm green after.
But I mind the storms of life. The waiting for miracles. The splintering questions.
Why, Lord?
“I have refined you, but not as silver is refined, rather I have refined you in the furnace of suffering.”
Isaiah 48:10
I spend Friday with Jesus asking Him the questions. Crawling up into His arms, a weary child, a woman in need of comfort. Not knowing why, after prayers, a mother is forced to go to Sudan to sell herself for money and leaves a girl behind, not knowing why the attacks come, or why the miracles feel sparse and my faith dry. Not knowing what to do with a 13 year old girl who shows up at our doorstep afraid to be given away in marriage. Except to keep her. But the numbers seem endless.
And the guilt of blaming myself is always crushing. It never seems enough.
And He comes. He always comes.
I lean slow into Him and learn.
I am learning the way absence makes the hunger, insatiable. How the seeking for Him becomes strong. How I learn to need Him more than anything. And can never get enough.
And something else is born here. A strength of spirit.
My husband comments on it. How what used to devastate me, no longer does.
That the emotions are calmed into patience.
How the torrents and the tirades have ceased. How the anger has dissolved into trust. How the disappointments are left at Jesus’ feet. How the laughter can still come in the middle of crisis, in-between tears. How the grief seems not so heavy with Him carrying it.
How I am learning to choose joy.
To ignore the loud grumble.
Somewhere, a part of me is growing up. I marvel at a maturity I didn’t know was there.
When did I become an adult?
As silver…
These tests, somewhere making the soul bright, burning in clarity. And God makes the heart soft again. Makes the muddy world green.
Injustices melt away at the sound of His voice. Emotions become peace in His presence.
And Heaven is pregnant with the swell of shed tears, ready to burst forth
a new season.
You will find me praying, make me ready for it, Jesus,
make me ready.
