Wednesday, April 27, 2011
I spent an hour rambling to a friend, one that I trust to hear the unedited and not judge.
She listened, so patient.
Like a rush of water my thoughts poured from my mouth as if they had been frozen
and thawed by the warmth of the sun.
Gratitude surrounds me- she was there to sift the important from the unimportant as I heard myself let go of what I hold onto but is not mine to hold.
I see the tracks where they have passed by here...he? she?
and I wonder why? Why does he watch, quietly as if I cannot see him behind the silence.
But the traces are there and I know. I wonder. I worry. Is the anger still there? The fear?
Why does he come by here? Does he care or does he hate?
My God stirs in me the searching of my own decisions, looking deep into why I care.
But I love. I forgive. I want desperately to know but I breath in
to release that I may never know.
I give up, I surrender.
There is no fight, no anger, no revenge, nothing left
And I know...
my God has been there, in my heart.
Like a storm rolling through, my words, they roll out.
The thunder now crashes, distant and the lightening, now quick and dim.
The anger and hurt that threatened so close, now faded.
"Not since February 2, 2008..." I hear myself say. I decided, 'never again' -the pain would wound with words, ceased. The final scream of rage released from my lips and from my soul as I relinquished control and turned it over -to God. And He took it. It was always His. And he took my friend, too, to protect and to heal. Us.
I let go.
Tonight, my own words sound so calm, so...healed. I know it's not me who has done this work. And I feel in my heart, deep,
in my heart
that I wish I could fix what I held onto too tight
and I squeezed all the life, all the love from
But I see traces and signs that something is there. Maybe fear? Maybe caution?
he's been here. I pray and I wonder, "Why?"
Should I fear? or rejoice? or hope?
And the plum line drops.
There is no fear when I walk in the light.
I rejoice in knowing that there is always hope.
He is true to His promise that when He begins a good work, He will carry it on until it is complete. It is not over. He is not finished.
The forcefulness of the water slows to a steady drip, drip, drip.
My words slow as I realize that I can trust -
maybe not he who quietly peeks into the windows of my life-
but the One who holds the key to the doors and guards me as the apple of His eye,
who protects me in the shadow of His wings,
and who will not let me fall.
I am His,