March 05, 2017
This came onto my phone screen at 12:53 pm last Friday...
The ball dropped. My chest tightened. Text messages that followed questioned if she'd ever be able to graduate from college, and informed that she was declining to the place we had encountered her when we brought her home last May...bedridden. I couldn't hop in the car and head to Palm Beach to care for her because we were blessed with family in-town over the weekend. The tension within me mounted and invaded every corner of my heart, mind, and body. It's been one of those weeks when I forget how powerless I am to bring peace to our reality. Fear of Madison bottoming out gripped me and I clamored inside, thinking there must be something I can do to prevent it.
Why does it feel like torture to watch my child suffer?
Why does everything in me want to prevent it from happening?
...Even when I have seen the God of the universe grow so real to me through my own suffering.
Sleep became shallow. The dark circles beneath my 47 year-old eyes grew darker. People even told me I looked tired.
Years ago, as I read this in the Bible,
Are you tired? Worn out? Burned out on religion? Come to me. Get away with me and you’ll recover your life. I’ll show you how to take a real rest. Walk with me and work with me—watch how I do it. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace. I won’t lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you. Keep company with me and you’ll learn to live freely and lightly.
The intimacy the Father enjoyed with the Son and the Son with the Father was the source of living freely and lightly...unforced rhythms of grace. And He was inviting me into that intimacy. I began to realize that perhaps God had so much more of Him He was anxious to reveal to me. And I became hungry to receive a deeper knowing of Him. I was more than willing to listen. Deep tracks in earth made that obvious. The earth of my soul was parched and deeply imprinted, and so thirsty for this reality.
He has infused His grace into my soul these past 12 years, through a great deal of suffering and struggle. Seems like in the suffering, my eyes are de-scaled so I can glimpse Him more clearly. In the suffering and discomfort, I am softened to Him. In the suffering, space opens within my soul to contain more of Him. If I lean into it. Open myself to it. Not fill the space with other stuff. In His suffering, He created space for us to enter into the intimacy He enjoyed with the Father. Because of so much grace, unforced rhythms of grace are becoming my real.
Then Madison sent that text, and I was like a train derailed. Before I was aware, I had taken up a burden "heavy and ill-fitting." After many restless nights, I became aware of how I want to prevent Madison from unravelling. Ann Voskamp captured it for me this morning in her book, The Broken Way:
"Our strained and knotted shoulders can feel wind beaten, trying to hold bits of our broken world together. But I keep telling my chronic soul amnesia to surrender the idea of being the mortar that holds all our mortal lives together and simply let go, believing that the broken bits of a heart are sand in His wind to carve a better life."
Because a good part of my days, I trust in my God's love, seasons like this whiplash me. Soul amnesia...how perfectly those two words capture the root of my clamoring heart.
My shoulders are literally strained and knotted. Jesus carried that cross and was the only one fit to do it. Receive--I inhale. Receive--I exhale. God is inviting me to a deeper place of surrendering my children to Him in this season of young adulthood. Argh. How I resist in fear.
Madison shared with Dennis on Saturday that a classmate had approached her on Friday after class, after she'd sent me that text message above. He's someone she didn't know. He asked her how she was doing. She shared honestly about her health struggles. He shared with her that God had told him to ask her how she was doing. He didn't know her. He told her he wanted to pray for her and they met in a prayer room. He brought with him another guy and two female students. The four of them, people she'd never met before, prayed over her for 90 minutes.
Ninety minutes. A random student who didn't know her. Gathering an army to lift my girl up to the Father, Son and Spirit. I had gathered my army of people to pray from a distance, which was all I could do. Then the God of the universe calls forth his army of four college students, strangers to Madison, to physically enfold her, cover her in their prayers. His hands, his body, his heart, his love all around her. They carried her fearful, broken heart to the throne of grace.
Another friend brought her dinner on Sunday.
Madison is seeing her Father's kindness toward her and experiencing His care in my absence. Had I been there, I would have filled the space He so ached to fill.
Today is Ash Wednesday, the first day of lent. A season to prepare to celebrate Jesus's death and resurrection. So timely. As I take my first steps into this season, I will give up more of myself, to create more space in my soul for more of Him. It's what I hunger for most.
Lent comes from the Old English word Lencten, which means Springtime. In this season, we begin to see something new spring up from winter’s cold earth. We begin the journey to death, the cross and resurrection."
An upside down gospel...the dying makes space for the living. The wonder of Christ is that a resurrection always follows a crucifixion. I die, in a deeper way, to my desire to be the brick and mortar to my children. Slowly, I open my hands and offer all five to Him. Again. Still a little tentatively. I've done this so many times before. But this time, it feels deeper. Grace to journey this Lenten path. Grace to keep my eyes fixed on the Cross and resurrection.
Grace to "surrender the idea of being the mortar that holds all our mortal lives together and simply let go, believing that the broken bits of a heart are sand in His wind to carve a better life." Unforced rhythms of grace weaving their way more deeply into my soul.