Considering I really don't have time to blog, it's time for another blog post. I have no idea why I'm so good at only blogging when I really have no time for it, but I guess ya just have to do what ya can. (:
As I write this, I ask Jesus for words of healing. It's funny. When we need healing the most, sometimes, there really are no words. All we have is the Word. Come, Lord Jesus.
Tonight was the memorial service for a Multnomah graduate student. Jennica Kruse. I didn't know her, but I knew who she was, and I knew the familiar face of her husband, often smiling. Both of them smiled a lot. And then . . . she was gone. Had no idea about a brain tumor, just about the pain that sent them to the hospital the night before the morning that she walked through Heaven.
And it doesn't make sense. The honesty of that statement shatters me and helps me feel safe in the same moment. There are answers too big and complicated to understand. There are good answers. We just might not be strong enough to carry them right now as Corrie Ten Boom might say.
And I am quick to sympathize with those struggling. I am quick to enter into their struggles, into their not understanding, but in so doing, sometimes, I lose sight of what I know. That God is still in control. Oh poor world, those words seem cheap to you when you're aching sometimes, don't they? And to those who have sipped suffering and have felt the way it scalds are not the ones who need to hear those words. They need to feel them but not to hear them. But for me, the one who is only stepping onto the precipice of their pain and feeling, not it's full force but the retraction, I have no excuse to shy away from His sovereignty.
Faith may not be natural, but especially in these moments when the suffering hasn't directly affected me, am I practicing the art of protecting faith? Am I keeping it safe from the winds that would quench the tiny flickers of fire or am I letting it stand vulnerable, only for the purpose of trying to sympathize with others? I have to remember that silence might be the best way for me to love those who are directly suffering, to listen to their doubts and questions, the anger, and I believe God has called me to this and to His grace, because He sure knows I need it whenever I go through the waters. He's seen me angry in pain.
But what I'm learning is that, in helping carry my friends' burdens, I still need to carry my own faith.
This might not make any sense at all. It could probably be very easily misunderstood, and if so, I'm very sorry. I'm trying to communicate something He's trying to show me.
Our God Reigns.
Still. And if you can't see that right now, dear one? That's okay. I will trust it for you . . . you can lean on me; I'll help carry you. I'll try my best to be silent, to simply listen to your bleeding, broken heart. It's okay if it's messy. It's okay if you don't understand or if you're angry. It's okay. I'll still be here. Only as God gives me the grace, I will try hard to be strong . . . lean on my strength. It's okay if you don't have enough of your own right now. I love you very much. One moment at a time.