The dead-end road had me hitting that pavement on the daily, and I’d gasp in a fresh-air breath, soaking in Father’s homemade vitamin d, the way He’d intended; those five years in our first owned home might have been simple, but some days I’ll admit the way I handled hardships seemed wiser than the recents, and I ask Him how come in life sometimes it seems like we go backward before moving forward?
The hard things come in waves, they say, and I am in a place where if at all possible I’d rather not grin and bare them anymore and can you blame me? I got used to holding my breath before the dirt roads beckoned truth from my heart.
Like a poncho-wearing warrior, I squint my eyes in the storm, pushing forward through unknowns and sometimes confusion. Yes, even sometimes when I’m in my flesh, want the easy way out of whatever thing I am facing.
It’s easy in my head. To run away and do things like the way I envision it, between my ears, where long roads and unnecessary sweat are bypassed. But any way that is not His will not profit me. I’d wind up running in the dark, back into His arms, so why not stay here where it’s safe, though I can not captain the ship?
I am not where I was then. Physically, or any other way for that matter. The woman in that house does not live here, where I am now. But sometimes I want the tenderness the other version had. Has strength made me hard?
Help me to remain tender. Tenderness can be painful because you say yes to things that keep you tender, on purpose. It goes against the flesh, and the way the flesh would have them.
It wasn’t my plan to write about this. I had something else typed out but I’m saving it for next week. All I can think about right now, is being tender, like my #OneWord2023, clay. Workable, like clay.
Like workable clay, I surrender to the way He wants things. Does that mean I understand everything about that? No. Mostly no. He takes time to bend my edges and add deep designed cuts in places I wouldn’t choose.
Having fingers pressed into your clay-sides, moving things this way and that, is not pretty. And then, at some point, you see this beautiful work of art at the end of it. Do you know what it went through? Not typically.
Typically, we are buying the end product, but Father delights in our process. Sometimes, getting reworked is what’s needed; to be balled up in lump-like fashion is a method of mercy. You are full of promise in His hands.
I will carry His presence with me from the bed to the filing cabinet. From the register to the door. To the door to the sink. From the mirror to the church. From the church to home, repeat.
Here I am, not longing to go back, but glad to feel again minus the saga of the apologizing woman. And I am not even sorry for not having the answers as to why life is not linear in how we go through it all.
If you are looking back wondering how you are still here, rejoice!
If you are looking back wishing you had something from then, now, stop wishing and ask!
If you are looking back in regret, STOP!
Be fully here and thankful for every minute of goodness He gave when nothing is what we deserved.
Head down, hands up.
Clay.
Check back in 2/21/23 at 7pm CST to link up!
warmly, meg 