I think God is doing something in me, something heartfelt and needed. The last six or seven months have been punctuated by pain for the most part, with little joy or happiness (other than working with the Ranch Hands, who I really miss). There has been very little that I have done because I wanted to. Even though not much has changed about my situation or the people around me, such as my family, I find myself inexplicably...stilled. Joyful, almost.
I'm not sure when it began; perhaps it was about three and a half weeks ago when I was feeling like I didn't measure up to anyone or anything, not even myself. I guess, to explain further, I felt like I was a burden to those around me and foolish for choices I had made in the past. Right when I was feeling the worst, though, God spoke to me through a few very trusted people, telling me I wasn't so far behind as I felt, that I was actually thriving in ways I hardly took notice of. These things were then followed by somewhat painful realizations and moments where I realized there were some rough areas I didn't want to admit to or change in my heart--although some were of my own imagination, not fact or reality. Eventually God won out, though.
Ever since, I have been slowly overcome with a stillness of my soul enamored by God's beauty. Even now it's hard for me to write about, hard to put into words. About two weeks ago I wrote in my journal: "I've been afraid to care, afraid to hope. Is hope even valid? Show me, Lord. Show me I can hope! There has to be more in joy than just what I know already. Show me, please. I see this rock in my heart, but I lay it at Your feet and ask you to soften it in any way you can." Just two days later I found myself in the woods, on my knees under the weight of what beauty is and isn't. Beauty isn't grasped, it is known. God isn't grasped, He is known.
This summer, the ranch hand girls and I began a study on what it means to really know God's voice--I say began because there is no end to this study. Knowing God's voice is knowing Him. Trusting, believing, reaching for...there is so much more to knowing something than just knowing about it or believing about it. That knocked me over enough, but now I see it applied in another aspect.
I wrote this that day in the woods: "Your beauty is such that I can't understand. Dew drops are your rhinestones, the moss your emerald. It's incredible to me that I am Your diamond; I feel so much less beautiful than these woods. So less breathtaking than the sound of the wind or the falling leaves in the sunlight. The nip of cold on my nose and in my mouth is like a sweet, crisp caress...People are your gems to be adored, the rest to be observed." (p.s. falling leaves are gentle looking until they hit you in the nose, like one did to me, effectively snapping my reverie for a few minutes. I just laughed).
Following all of this dilly dally in the woods, I spent time making cookies and abiding in the quiet of thinking about God. Makes me sound uber holy, doesn't it? Don't worry, I'm not, I don't think. I like hard rock and action movies, okay? I'm not holy yet. It's just that my favorite thing to do is think about and talk to God--so what if I do it while making cookies? Anyway, I felt quieted after that and, the next day, I actually started my morning off the way I would like to every morning by eating (for starters), reading my bible, and thanking God for the coming day and the one that already came. Then, in class, my professor talked about the fact that Christ can relate to every scar and pain any and every person has because he had some element of everything terrible happen to him. He bore them throughout his life, not just on the cross. And he won. The honest beauty of the chance to know someone who would do that for me made me silent for a good two hours. I felt like speaking about any of this would not do it justice. I had known these things and this knowledge of Jesus' scars had helped me through some things earlier in life, but hearing it again made me too happy to speak.
Even now I don't know if I'm accurately explaining everything going on...which is okay. God is just...so beautiful. Shawn McDonald has a song called "Beautiful" and in it there is a haunting line that says, "What a beautiful God... What am I that I might be called your child? What am I that you might know me, my King? What am I that you might die so I might live?" --he sings them in a pretty haunting way. It's true of me right now though...what am I that I might be loved by such a beautiful God? I must be something; a God like him wouldn't pay attention to me otherwise.
God wants to know me and I him. So even though it's really painful for me to come to this empty house and see what isn't there anymore--namely my sisters, my grandma, and my dog--and it's painful to know how much my extended family hates our guts, I can still rejoice in the days to come. I saw Secretariat today (go see it, pee ess) and my dad and I were both compelled to tears (he'll deny it) because we could relate to this woman's pain. She loses much of what she loves in a short amount of time, but she hangs onto the fact that she must still run her race. Secretariat is just her outlet--on a day when she suffers a particularly bad loss she goes to the stable where the horse was born and cries for a bit. However, when her friends come to see her she says something to the effect of, "We will still rejoice today and for the rest of the days to come!"
I don't know if I have a Secretariat to help me work my way through this grief, but I will still run the race. All I know is right now I find myself stilled before his beauty...and with one or two things of unexpected happiness. I confessed to God a little while ago that I wasn't happy. He knew, but he wanted me to tell him. He said he'd change that. I hope it keeps going. :)
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