Yesterday was Jon's birthday and I find myself most speechless on the days where I'm supposed to be the most full of praises and affirmations. And we spent the morning driving around the city to different churches with the air conditioning sputtering on and off, and the evening driving to Omaha and back, and we never acknowledged the sober reality that we'd spent most of his first day of 27 in the car.
The heat is fading in slowly, in suffocating silence. Some days this farmland glows with glory. Others, it grows stagnate and stale.
And we wait on the Lord out in this farmland. We wait on Him in relief that His faithfulness is not correlated with our trust, but with His own character. We cling to blurry hope on the stale days; we relish in the abundant glory on victorious days.
We ask Him. He answers. "No's" sting our cheeks in shame and "yeses" feel foreign, abbreviated, delayed. But we have no other choice but to sit at His feet and keep asking, though our questions have become silent wonderings and our prayers have become late-night pleas. And if it's not true that all we want is Him, then the disappointment will continue. For He is all we are guaranteed.
So my hands are loosening their grip on deadlines, homes, seemingly holy desires. None of those are promised. But I am promised His presence. Promised He won't leave. Promised He works things for good. Promised I can gain Him. And honestly, sometimes those promises seem disappointing.
And that is why you're here, He sweetly says to me in this stale farmland.
The heat is fading in slowly, in suffocating silence. Some days this farmland glows with glory. Others, it grows stagnate and stale.
And we wait on the Lord out in this farmland. We wait on Him in relief that His faithfulness is not correlated with our trust, but with His own character. We cling to blurry hope on the stale days; we relish in the abundant glory on victorious days.
We ask Him. He answers. "No's" sting our cheeks in shame and "yeses" feel foreign, abbreviated, delayed. But we have no other choice but to sit at His feet and keep asking, though our questions have become silent wonderings and our prayers have become late-night pleas. And if it's not true that all we want is Him, then the disappointment will continue. For He is all we are guaranteed.
So my hands are loosening their grip on deadlines, homes, seemingly holy desires. None of those are promised. But I am promised His presence. Promised He won't leave. Promised He works things for good. Promised I can gain Him. And honestly, sometimes those promises seem disappointing.
And that is why you're here, He sweetly says to me in this stale farmland.
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