Wednesday, March 16, 2011

resting in the trust of my *belay*

I spend time this morning in the quiet and still of the just-turned-a-new-day.

It's o-dark-hundred and I'm discouraged.  It's 22 degrees outside and I've had enough of the cold winter.

I'm ready for Spring and freshness, and warmth.  Sunshine and color in flowers.

My office hasn't had heat for a few weeks and grumbling-me isn't cheerful for another day in the office where my fingers become numb by 9:00.

I watched the sunrise just last week while I was running, and now it's dark again.  Bleh!

I struggle to find gratefulness.

My journal is open and I'm poised to write, but I can't find anything.  I whisper the truth that I'm struggling to find it and for Him to show me, and suddenly it's there - the deep gratefulness.  
The sound of heat makes its way through my house and I remember that I've slept the whole night through when just the day before I didn't.  And so I write of my gratefulness: for sleeping through the night, and safety in the night, and heat and warmth.

He answered my heart cry to *see* His gifts of {Grace}.

Reading a memoir of someone else's story, I open my journal and write, write, write away about my own memories from the deep, dark sea that slowly make their way to the surface.

I get ready for a run and still have more to write, and so getting out the door is a little later as I grab my journal and write some more.

It's a little lighter out now.  Thank you, Lord.

There wasn't any rain or snow last night and the sidewalks and road aren't slippery.  Very different from yesterday's risk-of-slipping-and-falling at every step.  Another {grace} to unwrap in gratefulness.

Memories continue to rise to the surface with each step.

Yesterday I needed sustenance and goodness how He provided!  Deep gratefulness.

I think of the strange sweetness I tasted on my lips this morning and how I noticed it, and I wonder where it came from.  Did I brush my teeth last night?  Yes.  I think it's odd this strange sweetness remains, even after I had a cup of coffee.

My lips taste so sweet.  Odd.  I picture honey drizzled on my lips as I slept.  And I smile.

I've been weary of clinging.  Tired of holding on so tightly.  I picture a rock climber.  My fingers hurt.  I'm so tired.  So weary.

I continue my run and feel the heaviness in my legs.  I'm tired.  I think, this time change has gotten to me.

He's with me, and I'm aware that we've been having a conversation.  I lean in close to Him.

There have been people I've crossed paths with in my life - even my closest friend - who I've encouraged to cling to Him.  And the clinging just doesn't seem right anymore.

He speaks to my heart - that He's my belay.  

He wants me to trust that He'll support me.  He'll catch me before I fall.  He'll hold me up there and I won't fall.

He invites me to let go.  Let my fingers get rest.  Rest in His strength holding me upright.

I haven't let Him be my belay.  I've been so afraid I'll let go and need Him.  That my needing Him is a sign of *weakness*.

Why is it, I wonder, that I can't just let Him support me?  Why do I still try to be a super-hero?

Oh, dear God, forgive me.

My cadence picks up since there isn't any ice to watch out for, and I see the clearing in the sky.

I think of how I pray into thin air.

I want to believe.  I do believe.  And yet, I doubt.  I doubt my own belief.  I wonder if my prayers - my thoughts - just get whisked away with the wind.

It bothers me how I continue to ache for another child.  Truly, ache.  Such a longing that won't seem to go away.  I bring it to God again and again, and again.  I try so hard to let it go and not think of it.

I get through about two weeks until my body prepares for my monthly cycle and the cycle of longing continues.  And even when I start a new pack of birth control pills, lifting each as my offering to God that I will trust and I will honor the choice of my husband right now, the longing continues and I am ashamed of not trying hard enough.

I am weary of trying so hard.

Our six-year-old boy-man talks silliness about me having a baby.  I wonder why he says that.  What would make him joke like that?  I want to embrace it and unwrap the gift of *hope*.  But, it's painful.

It's so painful to trust.

I keep trying to cling - to hold on - and I'm about to let go.  Not fall, but let. go.  Truly, let go of the control I want, and trust in my belay.

The deep, dark sea of memories becomes closer to me, and clearer like a smooth flowing river.

For a moment - a moment that I hope will last forever, and so I replay the thought over and over again until I can write it down - I think that maybe He's allowing the ache.

Maybe He's allowing the longing.

Maybe He keeps the ache alive to show me that He is alive and He is working every day in my life - and in my husband's life, and in our son's life, and in other people's lives - to prepare us for that someday.  And I am aware that maybe someday won't include another child. 

But, for now maybe He is allowing me the ache and the longing to bring me closer to trusting Him - closer to the gift of *hope*.

I say I trust.  But He wants me to really trust - to not be afraid to let go.  He wants me to really believe He's working for my good - not just know it, but really believe it in my heart.  True, deep belief.

The process of getting there - wherever there is - requires *this time*.

He wants me to really know the feelings and thoughts I am having today (and yesterday), and not to get a quick fix.  He wants to heal me from the inside out.  Make my trust solid on the inside - healthy and strong.  He wants me to run, not just hobble along.

I need this time of strengthening to get there.

He wants me to remember this time deep into the length of my *life* story.

These days are a rock in the building of an altar to Him.

He gave me sustenance yesterday, and He continues to provide it to me today - like manna from Heaven.  {And I wonder if it was spoon-fed to me as I slept last night.  I taste it again - mmmm...holy sweetness on my lips.}

It's the conversation we had this morning while I ran that makes it really hard to deny this living God.  It's so personal and so true.  And it's what He brings each of us to in such unique ways, showing that He is a God who cares so deeply about each one of us, and He doesn't compare us with any of His other sweeties.

They say it's going to be 50 degrees today.  The sun is shining.  I'm hoping they're right.  In the mean time, I'm deliberately focusing on unwrapping the gifts of {Grace} He gives me moment-by-precious-moment.

I stretch after my run and *see* - right there alongside the house - beauty in the sprouting up of new blooms.  I hunt after more, walking around to the other side of the house, and goodness-gracious-will-you-look-at-that...a purple crocus making itself known, and the soon-to-be blooms of daffodils!

Thank you, Father.  Thank you!


  1. "Maybe he's allowing the longing." Yes. I believe he does. It pulls us to him and helps us gently let go. Thanks for sharing.

  2. Just stopped by. This is beautiful. Prayers for you, sister. Such sweet words! Thank you for writing! :)