Saturday, March 30, 2019
Staring at this computer screen is remarkably like flying over the ocean at night . . . eerily blank, just in reverse. Flat, bright, silent white. In the air, one can see the last lights of land, a definite, glimmering line, and then it’s unapologetic black, blank space. Somehow everything seems suddenly hushed. Now in reverse, the light stares at me just as blankly as the darkness of night. No nothing. No blip. No emotions. No toppling opinions. No tears. Nothing.
Like any soul open to the expression of words, I wait.
I realize that my mind is not as quiet as I thought. My soul is silently restless. And even in this subtle commotion, no words or emotion come. In the face of nothing, it feels like I have nothing. And I am surprised! But I have a feeling there is a revelation in it. So I hold it toward the Lord.
I wait—with Him.
Oh, my Jesus. My precious Lord and Savior. Oh how beautiful it is that we can spend our days in communion with You. What a privilege. What an honor. What a joy! Your presence is sweet and powerful—both in one. It’s profound. It’s simple. It’s precious. How little we know! And yet how abundantly much we have and experience and come to know in You! May our eyes and hearts be open to so much more. May we breathe as one and share intimately this place of love. You, dear Father, are good. Your mercy endures forever. We march with Your banner over us, for we know Your love.
These are the things my spirit . . .
A thought came to me a second time with more fullness: forgiveness. The slate is clean. Blank.
I expected an upsurge of emotion after watching the movie Unplanned. I wondered at the cracking open of something shameful from my past. I went—unsure. Would I react to the reactions of others? Would they hate? Would they cheer? Would I react to what the film portrayed? Would it alienate? Would it blame? I did not expect to emerge unshamed.
My wound has healed. It doesn’t hurt to touch it. I don’t flinch at the light of truth. It has been handed to the Lord. The work has been done for some time. Like remembering a scar from childhood, it is a story in the timeline. I may bear the mark in my skin, but the sting of injury is long gone. To the touch it brings no knee-jerk pain. Now the memory can be used with intention and the story can become an example for others.