The thought comes.
I pick up the cloth
and head to the bathroom.
Or tie up my laces
and head out the door.
Or gather the
paintbrush,
organiser,
recipe book
and
pound pavement,
scrub floors,
tidy cupboards,
paint fences.
Until the thought recedes,
the endorphins flood,
the anxiety quietens.
My world is shaky,
uncertain,
frightening;
jobs redundant,
loved ones dying,
peace elusive.
And so I run,
purge,
fold,
cook,
until the fear goes
temporarily
away.
And I am in control.
I question the
goodness
of a God who gave,
but is taking.
And the wisdom of loving
by depriving.
And the usefulness of
suffering.
And He questions me.
What true joy and comfort
can be found in
temporal things?
Gifts given for us to enjoy
but never to replace
the Source of joy.
And through loss
He reveals,
that the God of all comfort,
who gave me these things
on purpose,
Can be trusted in
the reversal.
He who only gives
through grace and mercy,
can only take
through grace and mercy.
Perhaps the struggle
inside of me,
isn’t in what has gone,
but in the value
I attached.
And in its removal
I might see,
that the security was
never there.
Just misplaced affection.
When the gleam of order,
peace,
and plenty
dulls.
The broken vessels
leak.
The dependence comes
unhinged.
I see the
insanity
of one who looks for answers
in shiny distractions.
Who is satisfied with
famine
when feast is waiting.
Who picks up a phone
instead of her Bible.
Who empties a wardrobe
instead of filling her soul.
When again it comes:
chaos,
trouble,
loss.
I push aside the
cleaning cloth,
paintbrush,
running shoes,
and fall before
the One
who heals by tearing,
gives through taking,
prospers through hardship,
builds through breaking down.
And praise Him for
comfort,
joy,
and absolute peace, which is
only,
ever,
perfectly found
in Him.
