In the hollow...

It always makes me smile, the way God orchestrates things. The way He opens our eyes and ears, and suddenly, the very thing that we had struggled with, the thing that had been so absent is present everywhere.

For the last week I have wrestled as I became very aware of the depths of evil in the world. I kept phoning friends and asking them why, in a world where evil had ultimately been defeated, it was winning so very many battles. No one had any better answer than I did, and I think my question made some of them uncomfortable - I think they didn't really want to see the thing that had become so startlingly clear to me as I walk through life with the people God has asked me to care for. And it has been difficult - no, nearly impossible. The sorrow was threatening to overwhelm me. A friend came to me last night, and told me that she was grateful that God had given me the grace to walk through life with these people because she would not have been able to do it. And I laughed at her, because it has felt so awkward, so pain-filled, so wrong at times - I have kept walking through the depths with these girls only because I have not sensed God's release from this calling - His permission to draw back.

I spent the week meditating on the idea of looking for God amidst the messy, amidst the evil. On not seeing God only in the big and powerful moments, but in the tiny ones as well. All week I looked for Him and saw only ashes, dirt. Except for a few brief moments when I saw the suffering Jesus. For the moments when, as my heart broke at the realities of evil, I was reminded of the Savior hanging on a cross, His heart breaking, His father's heart breaking as He bore the weight of evil in my place. And those moments were powerful, but fleeting.

And so, I walked into church last night expecting so very little. We are a church full of artists, musicians and dancers, and I am a writer and an introverted one at that. I have felt that I am without a voice at our church the last while, growing intensely frustrated with a number of things, but I keep going because, three years in I have finally developed relationships that are growing into deep and meaningful things.

And last night, I knew from the moment I walked in and saw some friends rehearsing that it would be a night filled with artistic expression. So I sat on the floor at the front, next to a friend who was doing an art piece, and determined that I would soak, that I would somehow set aside the weight of my week, and that I would worship the suffering God who I had seen in those fleeting moments. And the service went on. And the band began to play a song about freedom. And I watched as a friend danced her worship - and I watched as she ultimately collapsed and began to pound the floor in frustration, in anger, to weep. And I knew that God was doing something. Because there was something strikingly beautiful in it. I saw God in the ashes. And then, the performance art piece - and as I sat and watched the phrase came to me "it takes the eyes of an artist to see the beauty in the messy."

And then Kirk got up to preach. And quite honestly, I'm not sure how much of what he said I actually heard. I was caught by the presence of God - I knew He was moving, and I don't really know where exactly, but I could sense His presence heavily, and I mostly wanted to weep. I remember snippets of stories. I remember him telling of his family background, and wanting to weep yet again, because I know this sort of background - I have come from it, and I daily walk life with people who come from it. I remember him reading the passage from Isaiah 43 that talks about God doing a new thing, about making pathways in the wilderness and streams in the wasteland to refresh his people. I remember that because the passage is a favorite - one I have returned to as God has done this thing in my life over the last five months. And I remember him telling us that our church was called not only to the world, but back to the church. And I loved that. Because I have struggled in a church that is constantly sending people to the mission fields of the world. For years and years, from long before God stepped into my life in a crazy new way in November, my heart's passion has been for the local church body. When God stepped into my life in November, He renewed that passion and calling. I am not called to the world, I am called to the church. I am called to bring healing, to bind wounds, and to restore and renew the people of the church. And I have no idea how that is going to play out on a practical level, but it burst in me again with intensity when Kirk preached that to our church.

On Tuesday night at house church, I penned the following prayer in my journal. "Jesus, my heart hurts. Hold me. Help me in the midst of this place. I am Yours."

On Friday night I copied a Rik Leaf/David Ruis lyric into my journal:
Will You heal the scars
too painful to touch?
Will You wrestle my thoughts
back from the dark?
Will You make my walls
salvation and peace
and let me in through the
gates of praise?

Last night I watched as God broke through. And maybe I was the only one who saw it. Or maybe it was just that I was desperately looking for it in my life this week. Or maybe everyone saw it differently. But He broke through. The phoenix rising to new life from the ashes.

I've just put a whole lot of words around something that feels intangible - that feels that it defies description. But it was good. And I expect that I will continue to soak in it as the thoughts that swirl in my heart begin to be absorbed.

This morning I got my usual daily email from the Moravians. Two scriptures and a prayer. The prayer caught me this morning - reinforcing the things that God has begun to speak, begun to do. The things that He has opened my eyes to see and my ears to hear. It said:

"Lord, thank you for your loving care. When we are weak, hurting, or troubled, help us to remember that you hold us in the hollow of your hand, and you will not let us fall. We pray in Jesus' name. Amen."

I rest in the hollow of His hand, even amidst the ashes He will not let me fall.

From the ashes...

This has been an odd week, marked by my own awareness of the horrendous evil in the world. And I have wrestled all week, looking to live out the commitment I wrote here earlier this week - to look for God, to look for His beauty in the midst of the truly ugly - to find Him in the messy.

And church tonight - wow! I don't know exactly what I'm thinking. But wow! I needed to be there. At one point, after a performance art piece featuring video, and dancers and singers, I grabbed for my journal and the words began to pour out. The following is the result of a journey that God has been taking me on for months now, a journey that some friends are walking with me, a journey that has been marked by its decided messiness.

All week
wrestling
fighting
looking for beauty
in the pits of hell

I have waded through the mire
through the depths of pain
of iniquity, of sorrow and anger
too deep to comprehend

desperately searching
for the presence of God
even here

and then suddenly,
or maybe not so suddenly
like a breath of cool and calming air
beauty became clear

the situation had not changed
but my vision cleared
I waded still through
the pit of evil

but His presence was clear
unmistakable
and in it was the beauty
His presence alone

For He gives beauty for ashes...
For He lifts the needy from the ashes...

Jesus,
let your beauty and presence
rise from the ashes
like the phoenix
rising to new life.