This morning the girls and I went to the Y for the first time in about three weeks. Before that we were doing great, going every day. Today it hurt. And it felt good.
I went to the walking track and started my mile. Thought I’d start out easy since I had been out for awhile. I checked to see if it was a clockwise or a counter clockwise day and began to walk.
I walked. I prayed. I cried.
Last weekend we were in the mountains, the Word washing over us. It is so sweet to have time of just the Word, worship, and sweet fellowship. Then we all go home or back to school and do life again. Do life with some people who don’t really care if they are walking with the Lord. Do life with some people who do care, but are walking through other difficult situations.
I walked and prayed and cried over my own children and decisions that need to be made and wanting a greater holiness for them.
I walked and prayed and cried over believers who weren’t sure if they wanted to live until next week. Life seems to be more than they can handle. It’s our job to convince them it isn’t.
I walked and prayed and cried over church family who are upset over decisions made that really have no spiritual significance at all.
Over young ladies who have decided the affections of other men are more important than their marriages and precious kids. And their Savior.
Oh God, please no.
The more I walked, the heavier my heart. I told God I wanted to be back in the mountains singing songs to Him; taking in the Bread of Heaven. I told Him I needed to be carried by Him.
He reminded me of a day 20 years ago. It was the weekend before Steve died. He had been sleeping in a recliner downstairs because it wasn’t as painful as on the bed. He stayed downstairs through the weekend, but on Sunday he decided he wanted to go upstairs to the bed.
There wasn’t anyone home but me, so we were trying to decide how to get him up the stairs, because he was too weak to climb them himself. I got down on all fours and he laid across my back and I slowly crept up the stairs. It was extremely painful for him so I had to go easy.
It took me awhile, but I finally got him to the top of the stairs and into the bed. I tried to make light of the situation so we wouldn’t be swallowed up in the sadness of it.
Because I wasn’t just carrying the weight of his body. I felt like I was carrying the weight of his pain, of his fear, of his humility, and of his surrender to the battle of that disease.
Why, Father, would You have me remember that day? Before the question was completely out of my mouth and to His ears, I knew exactly why.
I heard it right in my heart. He wants to carry me, my fear, my disappointment, my heartache, my tiredness. He wants me back on the mountain, full of praise, right here in north Texas.
So I will keep walking, keep praying, and probably keep crying. But I will also keep singing one of the songs learned on the mountain:
In the chaos, in confusion
I know You're sovereign still
In the moment of my weakness
You give me grace to do Your will.
That is where the peace comes from. Trusting that there is victory in all the mess.
So even though the reality of life’s issues hurts, the reality of the faithfulness of my Father feels really good.