I am steady, until suddenly I’m not. Running strong, and then abruptly, walking weary. Tonight was one of those times. One where you have a skip in your step, where you feel the closeness of soul friends and the nearness of God. Steady. Yes. Very steady. Until the startling call of sorrow crawled into my heart. Instantly I am walking weary. A swirl of emotions overtakes me, words unfurl as I try and talk my way through what feels too close to my heart. Husband listens. Holds my words close. Presses them on heart of his own. But sorrow, it pushes me hard, right outside the door into the night’s untold. Even if the ache is somewhat expected, it still drives me into unknown and unfamiliar places each time it hits. It swoops in ready to toss me into its sea of lament.
Puddles gather at my feet bare, pooling around toes edges. The glitter I brushed on top of peach polish is chipping off. My girls, they wanted moms toes to match theirs. And there it is cracking, like the cracking of so many of our hearts. It is barren where I sit. Just me, but that it ok. Sometimes alone is the best place to be. Night sky has stripped the rays of day. The day’s rain has poured hard, has emptied its belly onto bleak summer’s night. It has been a steady stream of tears today. Tears of heaven all awash for me to behold.
Frogs make their music, croaking deep, filling in the spaces of night. Crickets chirp, adding to the chorus. And my heart, it’s a bit crushed, the notes all a mess. And I hear it there as they sing their symphony-the echo of my own soul. My heart, it’s faltering, staccato. It’s trembling, alone and afraid, as I sit with toes in a puddle. I utter long, without courage to raise my head to the heavens. Eyes close. I need to breathe it all in. Musty rain gathers into my nostrils. Bellows of the croakers reverberate still. Their groans roll over into the center of my being. And then the clouds billow, and I cry, “Why hail added to this already tempestuous storm? What are you doing Lord? This isn’t ok. Trust? Trust seems impossible...tattered in two. How can we trust?” Liquid flows down freckled face. I don’t attempt to contain it. It’s real and it’s raw. I mourn the memories, the pain, the trenches of God’s people. Toes continue to dip in and out of pool of water. A frog croaks in reply. I dare not move.
Eyes glance up to sky. Moon is full. Filling the empty in me. Making the broken within feel a little more whole. The stars are millions. Innumerable. I wonder on Abraham. Ponder on all the times his heart was filled with questioning. I recall the LORD assuring him with Fatherly love, “I am thy shield, and thy exceeding great reward.” (Genesis 15:1). And didn’t his heart stumble just a bit? Did he not wonder how it could be that he would be a father of nations when he was clearly childless? God had moved him outside in the dead of night too. Had whispered to him in the wee hours, commanding him to fear not. Had shifted Abraham’s eyes towards the heavens. Bid him to consider. And I hear it there, “Tell the stars, if thou be able to number them.” He had believed. And here I am as testament, daughter of Abraham, star of my Father’s heart. Should not I believe too? Sparks of heaven shine down, setting fire to my bones. God is good even when it doesn’t feel good. And even here, yes even here, this time of affliction will water our weary souls too. Grief makes room for grace.
I let puddles wash my feet a bit longer. Let night’s narrative soothe me with its many stories. This time between just me and God is reverent. He has brought me forth abroad, moved my eyes to the tales of heaven. I examine my innermost parts as I survey the skies. Rain drips steady, like God given grace, from the One who knows my needs better than I know myself. From the One who deemed in eternity that I would be here under His sparkled canvas. Prayers for humility and grace tumble off lips of saved sinner. And I realize then, that we seem to talk a lot these days. I see that in the sorrow, God pushes us to Him. He holds our tomorrow and all tomorrow holds. My Maker, He stays near my side, listening closely to what He already knows. And I’m alone, but I realize I’m not alone at all. I’m just one of a million splintering stars in the palm of God’s almighty hand.
It's 2 am. Although husband sleeps deep, I recognize for now, this story God has shared is one that I don’t mind keeping to myself. I am sinner, but I am saved. We are in sorrow, but we are not swallowed. Shaken, but not moved. Much feels shambled. But all is well, because God has designed each drop to be what makes His stars radiate for Him. I sing it then, “Oh my soul, why art thou grieving? The LORD will command his lovingkindess in the day time, and in the night his song shall be with me, and my prayer…it will be unto the God of my life (Psalm 42:8)
Morning washes away the history of night. But my soul, it remembers. I breathe it all in, step into all that new morning mercy. Songs of fowl ricochet through the trees. Condensation mists fields of corn. Eight-year-old girl sketches the dance of this new day. Her pencil traces trees grazing the edge of sky, dew kissing blades green. She is gathering a song of her own, storing it up for tomorrows memory. There is anguish, but He has heard my nighttime prayer-ever turned my sorrow into gladness on the morrow. My soul does a dance of its own. The soul can grieve, but it grieves with hope. My faith is retrieved. We will mourn with hope. And He will comfort us for what He already knows…
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