Thursday, November 14, 2013

Unexpected Embrace

This morning she stumbles out of her room, half asleep, half awake.  I watch, wonder, as she chooses a different path.  Bypassing the bathroom, she meanders slowly towards the old farm table.

She walks straight to me, leans her body in close. 

Surprised, I embrace, squeeze her long. 

Warm tears stream down my cheeks.

Yes, my head nods. 

I had just read Isaiah 43, and He whispers it again to my tender heart.  Gently tells me to forget the former things, stop considering the things of old.

When will my heart and mind truly believe He will do a new thing?  It shall spring forth.  And through all my cloudy emotions, have I not known it?

I gaze into her big brown eyes.  Try to smile inside.

I identify so strongly in this moment with the father, desperate for Jesus to rescue his boy, as he cries out through his tears,
"Lord, I believe, help my unbelief!" (Mark 9:24)

I glance out the window, look at the bare ash.  Even in the stripping bare, the new is promised to spring forth.

I have lingered long here in the wilderness; a thirsting soul in the desert.  And she, she is lingering right here alongside me. 

She is fighting for drink for her very survival. 

I am enduring in heat for her heart to surrender.

We both have to open our souls just a crevice to accept the drop that quenches. 

Her body is awake.  She pushes me aside, runs back to her normal.

I glance back down, read those precious words again:

"Do not remember the former things,
Nor consider the things of old.
Behold, I will do a new thing,
Now it shall spring forth;
Shall you not know it?
I will even make a road in the wilderness
And rivers in the desert."
Isaiah 43:18-19

I feel the weight of it all trying to crush me.  Because I know how I have failed her in my quick reactions.  How my emotions and my own survival tools have taken command, protecting me from her rejection. 

I feel the hurt of how my responses haven't demonstated the faith my lips proclaim.  How my reactions have only validated her own, in critical moments when we both are feeling the wounded and bleeding. 

I feel the shame of the weariness that has traveled me right into this desert.

I flip a page back, read again how He calls me His witness, His servant.  His chosen.  All that I will yadha know Him and aman believe Him (Isa. 43:10). 

And part of the knowing is believing Him when He promises I will pass through the waters, through the rivers.  I will walk through the fire.  I will not be spared of trials, nor will she.  But, because He calls me precious in His sight, I am honored, and loved, and He is here, everywhere, in every single moment.

Even in the desert wilderness.

And if I believe He is here, there is water, living water, anticipating to flow like a river from my very own heart (John 7:38).    

Battling her toothbrush, she runs down the hall, angry tears flowing, toothpaste spitting through her words. 

And I see it there, in the wild of her eyes.  Her preciousness; His overwhelming love for her.

He gave men for her.  He gave people for her very life.     

She is my descendant, and as He faithfully promised, He gathered her little frame right up and brought her from afar. 

All because she is called daughter. 

All because she was created for His glory
 (Isa. 43:4-7).

And my mind envisions the road, and I will never stop searching for His river in this desert. 

His Word is promise, and I eagerly await relief in our parched bones (Isa. 43:20-21).

And I truly believe it has everything to do with the heart - His, mine, and hers.