Glimpses of Life (7): Messages and Messes
I’ve never felt so alone.
I hear God whispering directly to my soul, “enough.”
I don’t feel enough. On my knees in prayer, I told God I felt like I didn’t love Bill right, or maybe even enough, or maybe I even killed him–which is the biggest of all lies.
The serpent went to Eve who was weak, and whispered destruction there. He did the same with me. He’s come at my weakest.
I didn’t love perfectly. But, I loved well.
Cancer killed him. Its evidence poured out of his catheter, and his mouth. His expression revealed his inner anguish, though his mind appeared already absent. His skin confused hot and cold, with clammy sweat and chill. His muscles clenched and rigid.
Cancer killed him.
Cancer killed us.
I am not being punished by him being taken to Heaven.
“Lord, I don’t know what else to do. I’m in the wilderness…I feel like I need to continue moving to make this feeling diminish, but You are just asking me to rest.”
God asked the question of Adam and Eve, “Where are you?” They were at their lowest of low. They were hiding in shame.
I am low in sorrow.
He clothed them.
He’s comforting me.
I just need to rest in Him. Allow Him to minister truth to my achy bones.
I had a pretty gross dream last night. This baby was on the ground, without a diaper, and I am cleaning her up as best as possible. But, for whatever reason, I cannot keep up with the filth coming out. I hold my hands out and cup her soft stool to keep from hitting the ground.
All I think this morning is, “new beginnings are messy.” Vulnerable. And without proper blueprint.
Bill’s petition for us was to be strong. I feel weak, incapable as a small baby to take care of myself.
Maybe being strong has to do with recognizing God alongside me, step by step.
I remember the dream from long ago, when I stood by a body of water, similar to Joshua and the Israelites by the Jordan River, before entering the Promised Land.
July 16, 2012:
I stand close to the water. I see below the surface to the bottom. It is full of rocks. The water is clear and calm. I lean in for a closer peak. It feels as if time stands still. Maybe it is the stillness of the water. I don’t know.
I only see my lower half as I either have my pant legs pulled up or are wearing capris. I gently place my painted toes in the water as if checking the temperature.
Ripples move outward.
As with dreams, the scene abruptly shifts. I am on the other side. People are with me, but I don’t see their faces. Only the ground as I guide them to pick up the now dry stones to build an alter of sorts. I wake up.
Here is my prayer that day:
“Lord help me be the person you’ve called me to be. Give me the courage to move forward on the journey you’ve marked out specifically for me. Forgive me for standing when you are stepping. I want to be like Joshua. I know it will require more of me than ever before. I know you are with me. You will not abandon me on this journey. You always keep your promises. I am ready for the next step. Help me maneuver in this new terrain.
I am at rock bottom.
But, I know I am not alone. You are with me. Maybe stepping has to do with stepping into the mire, knowing I need to address the mess, and not just try to clean it up.
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