Tuesday, December 8, 2015

The Good Dark Valley


 I keep telling myself I'll blog more when I have a functioning computer, but who knows when I'll get that far.

When it comes to blogging, I always want whatever I put out there to be worth the time of the sweet humans who bother to read it. I could blog all about the *things* I do and stuff I've gotten done.... but that's so.. boring.

And while I've been doing *stuff*.. the Lord continues to develop my heart. I know I had that depressing blog a month or so ago where I admitted the broken, weary state of my heart, and I was hoping the next deep, well-thought-out blog that came off the press would be an epic update on how I'd finally summited out of my broken valley and was cloud 9 and overwhelmed and all of the joyful, happy things that a person made whole in Christ would have to report.

While I have found higher points on which to stand within my valley, I'm still in it. Indefinitely, it seems. I've accepted that there is no formula, no prayer, no verse, no word of encouragement that just magically lifts you out and sets you free. The Lord gives and the Lord takes away. The Lord, who has plans to prosper and not to harm plans to give a hope and future. The Lord who promises never to leave us or forsake us, the Lord who promises "where you go, I will go" and says, " Abide in me and you will bear fruit." The Lord who declares, " Then shall your light break forth like the dawn, and your healing shall spring up speedily; your righteousness shall go before you; the glory of the LORD shall be your rear guard." The Lord, makes all things perfect in His time.

I know a lot of things to be true. I still have an anchor of hope, treasured in jars of clay, that being broken, experiencing pain, being exhausted in a dark valley is a result of God's goodness. At times it makes no sense and in my brokenness, I ask the Lord, "how is this GOOD? This does not feel good."

And while my flesh would like to admit, "this is NOT good. It's only good if it feels good." I know, in that treasured hope that I have, it is unmistakenly good. At least, a part of my heart knows that. I fight myself to know that and claim that truth.

But, of things I've come to know, I realized I had put God in a box. An un-complicated box where only things good and wonderful fit in it. A box where I could easily sort out all of my experiences. If it was good, it was from God. If it is painful, it came from my short-comings and failures and over all not-good-enough-ness.

I've known better in the past, but I'm learning to know better again.

Slowly...gently, the Lord is pealing back the layers of my heart and finding the little pea at the bottom of 7 mattresses that is causing unthinkable and unexplainable distress. The need for gentleness makes for a slow, slow process. While I would like it to be over quickly, I don't think I could handle a more rapid pace.

God does not fit in my good box. God does not fit in my simple box. In fact, God does not fit a lot of the ideas I had about Him. I thought I had Him figured out, but I'm realizing I don't have a clue, actually.

The biggest question I've had lately is, "Who are you, God?"

Just like the disciples panicking at sea as their boat begins to sink, "Who is this man that even the wind and the waves obey Him?" Not because I've completely missed all of the miracles and wondrous displays to this point..but because I thought I knew Him. I thought I knew a God who was ALWAYS always always acting in my favor and protecting me and making me safe. But, I got in the boat with a guy who doesn't mind letting the boat take on water. Who doesn't mind letting you get to a point of panic. Who *can* calm the waters and the storms and the wind and waves... who can. But doesn't just do it. He doesn't promise calm waters, he doesn't stop the rain when you're out in the middle of the sea, He doesn't tell you ahead of time, "By the way.. there's a storm coming and by the time we're out in the middle.. it's going to be terrible and dangerous and awful."

In my mind, the most LOVING people, the most kind, the most considerate of my needs would TELL me, "By the way... there's a storm, and I want you to be safe." I mean... my own mother forced me out of the house earlier than I intended after Thanksgiving because she wanted me back to my apartment safe and sound before the ice-storm came and made things treacherous. Because that's loving.  At least, that is how my mind perceives being loved.

But God... is not like that. Who is this man, that He would take us out in a little fisherman's boat in the middle of a storm and then stay on the sidelines while we fight it for all we're worth and exhaust ourselves and be completely defeated before we ask for help?

Who is this man that He would proclaim He loves us beyond our comprehension and give up His life to prove it and then LET us go through broken times. And LET us live in perpetual pain. That He would give us good things. And then take the same good things away and call it love?

Who are you, God?
Who is this man that even the wind and the waves obey Him and I put so much effort into keeping my boat afloat in the storm and exhaust myself raising my tattered sails and push with all my might on the tiller to try and get the rudder to point my life back in the right direction? Who is this man who loves me well enough to sit in the boat with me while He shows me that I actually have zero control over the direction of the boat or the circumstances of the boat or the outcome or the buoyance or the whole-ness of or the blessed strength to preserve enough to float on after it falls to pieces.

I don't doubt that Jesus might have let the boat go all the way down. That He would have waited as long as He needed to wait. Which still begs the question, "Who is this man, who has the power to act and prevent and protect and overcomes himself in order to show you that he can still hear you above the winds and the waves and the cracking bow and the tattered sails and the broken oars and the cussing and the screaming and the panic. He can still hear you.

And He is good. He is good.  He is good.

I don't truly know Him. But He is good.

C.S. Lewis profoundly said it best when he wrote The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe and penned:
"“Safe?” said Mr. Beaver; “don’t you hear what Mrs. Beaver tells you? Who said anything about safe? ‘Course he isn’t safe. But he’s good. He’s the King, I tell you.” 


And that is as far as I've comprehend whilst I continue to trudge my way forward.

My life is not my life and I am not safe. I am not invincible, I am not un-touchable, I am not so protected that I shall not be broken and battered and exhausted and hurt... but I am loved. And the One who loves me is good.