Tuesday, April 24, 2012

Shhhh ... BE Still

This weekend, I walked along a path with my daughters and a couple friends, at a mother-daughter retreat in Northern Wisconsin. 

The early morning air was cool, fresh, and quiet.

Birds sang. The wind blew softly.

Mothers and daughters talked in hushed tones, as they walked and wandered.

I watched and listened, intently.

We came upon a still lake. The light of the sun filled the space.  The water reflected the trees almost perfectly.

I felt and heard it, again.

The Lord leaned in and whispered, “Shhhh.  BE still. Come sit with Me.”

I’m not sure I totally get what He is trying to tell me.

Why now? How? What does He mean?  What will it look like for me?

I know that I don’t DO still very well.  I DO busy, better.

But I’m pretty sure it’s not “doing still” that He’s after; it’s BEING stillbeing still with Him -- in whatever way that looks like to Him.

Which brings me to why I am actually writing this post – I’m pretty sure part of my BEING still is stepping down from writing on my blog. I don’t know why He is asking me to do this.  Maybe it’s just a different season. Perhaps He has something else for me.  I don’t know.

What I have learned over the years, though, is that it is not good for me to hold on to something that He no longer is calling me to do, and so with some (a lot of) sorrow (it’s been a sweet place of hope and healing for me), I say so long for now.

Who knows, maybe He’ll call me back to it, someday. In the meanwhile, know that I’m here if you need a prayer, a word of encouragement or a reminder of His unfailing love for you. Feel free to e-mail or if you’re close, maybe we can have coffee and share, face to face. That would be sweet.

Thank you for your kindness and your support, dear reader.  The Lord has used you to bless me. 

Monday, April 2, 2012

My Feet Freeze Fast

I peer around the corner and catch a glimpse of what once was.

My feet freeze fast in the memory.

I feel the gravel of grief beneath my feet. My heart hurts.  Strength in my arms drips from my fingertips and puddles on the floor. I sigh sorrowful.

I am caught off guard by my memory, yet it is not surprising.

I have a friend who hurts, now. Our stories are similar, yet different.

I hurt for her, too. My soul draws close to hers and meets her where she is.

I want to help her. I pray for her. I listen. I am present.

I try to separate out my sorrow from hers, but it is hard.

I ask Him to help me.

A cloud of witnesses appears in my mind.

I remember those who went before me, walked same and different roads, making the choice to put one foot in front of the other, committing to one hard choice after another, persevering when they felt like falling, always loving.

I realize gratitude for those who showed me the way and loved me when I was lost and love looked limp.

Now, I embrace my story and my sorrow, knowing that it is part of His purpose.

I allow God to take that memory and move me.

All for His glory, I step alongside of my friend, encouraging her to stay strong and seek Him.
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