Screaming would help, I think. I glare at the bucket in my hands. Years of training help me set it down gently but everything in me wants to crash it against the wall.
Who feels graceful when they’ve been informed of failure? Who feels gentle when they’ve been wounded?
I walk out of the barn and just keep walking. Moonlit fields, over a hundred acres of them, call my name. Can I just stop being? Can I disappear into nothingness?
I want to lay the blame on someone else. Anyone else. I don’t want to carry this weight, this harshness, this depravity.
I finally stop. Lay down in cool grass. Stare at a sky with rushing clouds and a round full moon.
My protests quiet. My self shrinks back. Words from the book of Job seem to fling themselves from the heavens.
Where were you when I laid the foundations of the earth? 38:4
“Oh, God…” I whisper and He comes.
Gentle grace raining on a dew-covered sinner.
The moon shimmers. His voice admonishes. My heart surrenders.
He will bring to light what is hidden in darkness… I Cor. 4:5
Even in my own soul. Even in my own failures. His light will pierce and His Word will divide, like a double-edged sword, and pieces of me will be laid bare.
For he wounds, but he also binds up; he injures, but his hands also heal. Job 5:18
Am I willing? Part of me wants to curl up and withdraw.
If I keep soul-stench hidden in darkness does that make it stop eroding my insides? Never. It has to be brought to light to be stopped.
Can I be made humble that He may be glorified?
What if His glory is what brings me healing?
I know the answers. I know truth. My hands run over the fresh green shoots of spring and hope refills the desperate places in me.
I know that I want Him more than anything else.
He whispers beautiful wholeness into my brokenness. He is, even when I have failed to the uttermost. He is, even when everyone else around me has failed. He is.
Oh, Father– let Your Spirit come.