whispers

Sometimes there's not a lot to be said. This is what He's telling me today. Perhaps it will encourage you, too.

And when you are in the center of your loneliness; when you just want to know why, to feel loved, to be sure of yourself, of the next step, of your beliefs, of something - anything; and when you wonder how you will climb out of the cave; when you are fearful and tired and ready to give up; and when the self-help books and coffee and music can't fix it; and when you feel broken and battered and breathless; and when you sigh and cry and look up, I'll be there. I already was, am, will be. Hold my hand and let go. Embrace me and your situation. Embrace the you I see. You are my beloved. You are beautiful. And you are mine.

Each time he said, “My grace is all you need. My power works best in weakness.” So now I am glad to boast about my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ can work through me.

2 Corinthians 12:9

believing

It's not so much a question of will I be taken care of. It's more like this: Will I choose to believe that I'll be taken care of? 

A lot's been going on in the oh-so-dramatically-titled saga of Sarah lately and I would guess that a lot's been going on in your life, too. From car issues to doctor's appointments to uncertainty to insomnia to memories to just remembering where the heck I set my keys, I guess you could chalk it up to this thing we call life. And as I approach each situation, I'm tempted to question why God would let things happen or why this or that or make who-the-heck-thought-this-was-a-good-idea comments. I know my life's not any more difficult than yours. I know we all have our own trials. I know that, from the perspective of a huge portion of the population on this earth, my life looks pretty grand - good, if you will. 

But sometimes I'd rather just think that everything bad happens to me and only me and that no one could understand or have as terrible of a hair day as me.

Now that's pretty self-centered.

I'm starting to realize that my self-centered thoughts come down to something more than narcissism. They come down to this: do I believe? Do I believe that even when I'm down, even when the enemy is kicking me around and even when things look black, do I believe that God's going to keep His promises, that He sees what I don't, that I can trust Him? Honestly, sometimes I don't. At least, sometimes I live like I don't. I think that in those moments when I only seem to see the bad and when life looks bleaker than the day before, I think it's in those moments that I'm afraid of believing. I'm afraid that maybe things won't change. Or afraid that they will. God's got a pretty big imagination. Just a few minutes sitting on the front porch basking in the red-orange light of the sunset is evidence enough of that. But I'm afraid to let God do His God-thing. I'm afraid of giving up control - not that I was doing such a great job of steering anyway. I'm afraid to believe.

I think the fear of belief in my life comes from many things, and I'm sure it's the same for you - from human nature, to being burned in the past, to putting myself out there only to get hurt. When I was a little girl, it was easier to believe, I think. But I know that from the moment I had felt the first touches of this world, I was already being attacked. We all share that experience. And while the moments in our lives can certainly shape us in positive ways, there's no denying the way hurts-experienced can turn into fears personified. We believe at first, but soon the scar tissue that reminds us of the truly painful moments in life becomes thick enough that belief seems silly. It seems unnecessary. It's just another way of creating and opening wounds.

Of course, that's only another lie. Because it's in this woundedness and brokenness and full-fledged childlike belief that God is able to work. God doesn't call us to be His co-workers or chums. He calls us to be His children. He wants to be in charge because He wants to take care of us. He wants to take care of me - of Sarah. He wants to take care of you.

So it comes down to this: fear versus belief; control versus trust; stubborn clenched fists versus the spread-eagle embrace of a Father.

Today, at least, I'm choosing to let go. I'm choosing to believe because belief is the only thing that can save me from whatever messes I throw myself into or that I find myself in by merit of simply being human. I choose to believe because, in the end, He loves me. I can be sure of it. What more do I need?