He sounds like a seal barking. Deep, low, “whoop whoop”, coming from his mouth, as the weather doesn’t seem to know what it wants from us, yet….
Sun and clouds, rain, the rays. And who knows what’s coming tomorrow?
And when our life has no clear forecast, when we can’t play God and pin our plans on what the weather will look like….
Can we still trust His hand is steady, sovereign? Do we believe He’s still got us in the center of His will, in the crevasses of His hand?
Some days seem slow and endless, when a teacher calls and tells us, his list of behaviors keeps growing and something needs fixing…
When aching spills over from the well that seems endless with pain and rejection, fear crippling, emotions so big, there’s no rumbling before the erupting…
And sometimes, volcanoes explode without warning, while everything in its path is left with more questions and trauma…than practical solutions…
And you wonder when the sun will shine, for more than a couple days consistent. And how a lifetime can unravel this cuddled child, begging for some magic wand to fix him.
Still, isn’t He in the valley, just as much as on the mountain? Isn’t He in the storm, as well as in those blue skies and perfect mornings?
Yet, I stroke the head of my seal-coughing one. Look into his eyes and see his confusion of why a mother would slow down long enough to hear the sound of his heartbeat.
Is one life so worthy? Is his story worth giving, everything one has for? Will this person before him finally keep hanging on and never let him go?
And I question, was it ego…me forgetting those moments when my own mother nurtured me when I was sick?
How many times did she stop to meet my needs though the earth was too big for me to swallow or escape from….
Yet, my kicking and pushing, never turned her away.
And some ask, “Why the orphan?” As if we choose our callings, plan purposes based on fortitude or will.
Can we conjure up callings simply by striving and wishing, “Oh, maybe this is my purpose?”
Isn’t a calling placed like stars in the heavens, branded to our heart from before the foundation of earth….the beginning of creation?
And who picks the aching, painful, weary, and crooked pathway? Who asks for the broken, spends themselves tirelessly for those who never earn what’s given…
Unless God is the one leading?
- Yet, must we not choose to accept what we unearth?
- Purposefully decide if we want to surrender to He wills, or ours?
- Isn’t it us who gets to partner with God, or waist our lives wanting a calling more neatly wrapped, safer, perfect than the one before us?
There was a time in my life I wanted to do anything but write, absolutely do any other purpose than give my life for the broken and needy…
I won’t lie….
I wanted grande and big, a seen and clean, un-messy ministry bringing power and confidence, praise from those on-looking.
But, this bowed low ministry…who asks for that?
Sick children taken from their mothers, waking in the middle of the night, dealing with trauma and pain, loss and arms reaching, that sometimes can’t be satisfied…
Over and over again…
Who willing walks into these un-glamorous trenches?
And yet, He keeps speaking…
- A true disciple’s call must always be obedience.
- A servant listens out of love and follows where He is leading….even when we can’t see the full staircase before us.
- Yes, any real Christian’s life must make sure to have fruit to it….
For He will one day ask us, “What did you do with the life I surrendered for you, on the cross?”
- Did you squander and waist it?
- Did you spend it all in vain, failing to realize the beauty of this life I have given?
- Did you take our light and hide it for fear of offending?
- Would you rather be world changers, or die selfish, as people pleasers?
A little boy, calls me from the other room. His face looks brighter as He wakes from hours long sleep.
His cough diminished. He’s wrapped in many blankets, like the cocoon I imagine him once resting in…while in his earthly mothers womb.
He blinks with those big, brown eyes. Asks me to stay awhile.
And I am reminded….What greater gift can we give another, than time?
And I can hardly believe this incredible life, this sacred, holy calling God has given me, so beautiful and wonderful in all its messiness.
God uses it all to mold us into His image. Me seeing more and more of who He is, in the faces of these children….
His imagine in their brokenness. My life melting into His perfect purpose, one small, “yes”, at a time, where nobody sees it.
One stroke of his forehead, one smile at a time, parting clouds, trusting His mercies are new every morning…
Healing does come, on perfect wings, like Eagles.
Faith rests for this purpose. His call is not comparable. Each having a measure of faith, according to what He wills for us.
Yes, the sun is shining. I know it. I believe it. There is hope behind the clouds.
Summer, sunnier days in the forecast when we look with spiritual eyes into the scripture of His promises.
I bow low, kiss the forehead of the little boy before me. Then, raise my eyes and look to heaven….
At the wonder of this beautiful, holy, wonderful, messy calling.
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