abundance
I'm caught between art nowadays, between listening to some good new (to me) tunes by my current faves James Taylor & Stevie Wonder, by this depressingly beautiful novel I'm working through, and a short story/memoir I'm writing that's too special to me to just slap together without much thought. Amidst all those things, though, I find myself here, where the words I spew are read by a handful of friends and strangers. Something about the inconsequentiality of writing these words keeps me coming back. I could be delving into timeless pieces of art, but I turn to this trivial space where my words will be soon forgotten.
We are working hard, on this trek toward a percentage, a number, a dollar amount, a whatever. All we know is we aren't done yet, that we're homeless, that the days stretch long, and we feel guilty about not knowing what to do with ourselves sometimes. We pray more than we ever have, because we our motto now is, "If the Lord doesn't do anything today, we don't do anything today." And something about this last 10% seems more daunting than any of the other numbers. And so there is a stillness to our days, a quiet anticipation that, though often laced with somber sighs, He will come through. We keep taking new steps, experiencing these Lamentations daily new mercies that come in softly like the smallest ocean wave.
We laugh about following clouds and pillars, about this stage of life they say we'll miss, and I'm quite astounded that we've given over a year to this part of our ministry, and I would be lying if there were days where I wondered if it was worth it.
But we make ourselves walk and pray together each day, approaching Him and asking Him to do something, even if we don't see that something. And our summer plans are fluttering around like confetti, and amidst the chaos, we are quite quiet. There is not much to say right now. Right now, we wait. We let His Spirit groan for us, we sit in anticipation.
My favorite miracle(s) of Jesus are when he feeds the multitudes, and there is always an overflow. Not just enough, but an abundance. An everybody-is-full-and-there's-still-more abundance. This greater-than-expected, surprisingly more aspect of our Lord is riddled throughout His Word and it calms me. I'm reading Romans now and Paul loves the phrase, "and not only that...". Paul saw it, that not only did Jesus die for our trespasses, but He rose for our life in Him. Our Savior is never one to skimp, to only do what is necessary, who never scrapes by. He heaps His mercy upon us, it is always greater than our sins. He is a Father of leftovers, of an abundant life that never runs dry.
Sometimes it's a subtle abundance, often missed until the season passes and we look back to see the baskets of bread and fish left over from that time. How He not only came through, but whisked in and did more than what was necessary. I will see it soon, I know it.
And that's what keeps me walking right now: I am swimming in His mercies and I don't even know I'm wet. He is abounding in lovingkindness. Hallelujah.
We are working hard, on this trek toward a percentage, a number, a dollar amount, a whatever. All we know is we aren't done yet, that we're homeless, that the days stretch long, and we feel guilty about not knowing what to do with ourselves sometimes. We pray more than we ever have, because we our motto now is, "If the Lord doesn't do anything today, we don't do anything today." And something about this last 10% seems more daunting than any of the other numbers. And so there is a stillness to our days, a quiet anticipation that, though often laced with somber sighs, He will come through. We keep taking new steps, experiencing these Lamentations daily new mercies that come in softly like the smallest ocean wave.
We laugh about following clouds and pillars, about this stage of life they say we'll miss, and I'm quite astounded that we've given over a year to this part of our ministry, and I would be lying if there were days where I wondered if it was worth it.
But we make ourselves walk and pray together each day, approaching Him and asking Him to do something, even if we don't see that something. And our summer plans are fluttering around like confetti, and amidst the chaos, we are quite quiet. There is not much to say right now. Right now, we wait. We let His Spirit groan for us, we sit in anticipation.
My favorite miracle(s) of Jesus are when he feeds the multitudes, and there is always an overflow. Not just enough, but an abundance. An everybody-is-full-and-there's-still-more abundance. This greater-than-expected, surprisingly more aspect of our Lord is riddled throughout His Word and it calms me. I'm reading Romans now and Paul loves the phrase, "and not only that...". Paul saw it, that not only did Jesus die for our trespasses, but He rose for our life in Him. Our Savior is never one to skimp, to only do what is necessary, who never scrapes by. He heaps His mercy upon us, it is always greater than our sins. He is a Father of leftovers, of an abundant life that never runs dry.
Sometimes it's a subtle abundance, often missed until the season passes and we look back to see the baskets of bread and fish left over from that time. How He not only came through, but whisked in and did more than what was necessary. I will see it soon, I know it.
And that's what keeps me walking right now: I am swimming in His mercies and I don't even know I'm wet. He is abounding in lovingkindness. Hallelujah.
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