After a conversation earlier in the day, I spent my afternoon in meetings, half of me present and half of me feeling like I could burst into tears any second. 6pm and the door to my house couldn't come fast enough. And when I finally walked in that backdoor at the end of the day and made my way up into my room, I couldn't contain myself any longer as I collapsed on my bed, sobbing.
That was where I sat for an hour, blanket wet from tears by the time my eyes were dry, body shaking uncontrollably as if I had a fever. I was one gross and snotty mess, "waterproof" mascara down my face, hair literally drenched with tears, my nose blocked up thanks to my inconvenient nose ring. I wept so hard that I went to bed four hours earlier than my usual bedtime, body weak and head aching from the sadness.
I slept nine long hours and woke up well before dawn, surprised at how alert and content I was feeling. I made my way downstairs, brewed some coffee, and began to read Scripture like I always do. During my morning quiet time, I realized that the night before I had spent that hour crying out to God.
That, for me, is different.
That, for me, is progress.
In between "I'm sorry's" and in between moments of long silences when all anyone would have been able to hear were my sobs, I must have said "Jesus" a hundred times. Sometimes I found myself stating the obvious ("I'm just so sad") and sometimes I muttered out a few complete sentences to Him ("Let me just feel Your presence & let me just know You are here & teach me how to forgive myself"), but when no other words came, I just continued to say His name, sometimes adding a soft "please" at the end. And always, I invited Him into the room.
It was honest and authentic and raw. It wasn't an hour of eloquent prayer and it wasn't a time when I necessarily experienced any crazy supernatural encounters. It was just me and my tears and my blanket and my God. The room was still and the pain was real, but something was different. I didn't feel the presence of God in some overwhelming fashion and I didn't feel any less sad and in that moment, if you had asked me, I probably would have said that I didn't feel any less alone. But I realized in the morning that He had indeed been in the room, that I went from my typical place of sitting alone with my regret to inviting Jesus into it.
I realized that while I went to bed physically tired from crying and still sad and still hurting and my situation still very much the same in the morning, Jesus had been right there in the thick of it. Because I invited Him in, because I cried out to Him, because I took the focus away from the pain of the situation and put it back on Him, I no longer felt debilitated by my sadness.
Immanuel, God with us.
And He is always with us. He had always been there when I cried, I just had never chosen to engage Him before. I would push Him away, too hurt and angry and ashamed and lost in my thoughts to know what it was I even wanted from Him.
But now I do: His presence.
He is good. He is faithful. He is everything I need. And as long as I remain in Him, no situation will ever been too over-bearing for this little heart of mine.
For this is what the LORD says…
"As a mother comforts her child,
so I will comfort you."
[Isaiah 66]
No comments:
Post a Comment