11 February 2013

Let me go, for the day has broken

There is a song called, "Hold Me Jesus."It goes something like this:

"Sometimes my life just don't make sense, at all. When the mountains look so big, and my faith just seems so small. So hold me Jesus. I'm shakin' like a leaf. You have been King of my glory, won't you be my Prince of Peace?"

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. "Dust thou art and to dust thou returnest was not said of the soul" (Longfellow).

Is there always a wall you hit, a floor you drip tears on, a bed you are afraid to leave? A world's dark night, a desperate plea for the blessing.

“Let me go, for the day has broken.” 

But Jacob said, “I will not let you go unless you bless me.”
I'm not sure the day has broken, yet. But I know my heart has. And I will not let you go; I will call to you from the end of the earth, when my heart is faint. I will call to you when I am weary and heavy laden. I will knock, I will seek, I will ask for wisdom that it may be given. Do not go up from here without me. 

A couple years ago, a friend told me there was faith in eating. Eating when I'm not hungry, eating when I know I need nourishment, and trusting that God who made the food can keep it in me to minister. There is faith in eating, but there is faith in much, much more. There is faith in the eating, there is faith in the waking, there is faith in the getting out of bed. Faith is the assurance of things hoped for. Faith isn't a determination that my life will fall into my plan. It is the understanding that even when (for it does) it seems to go haywire, God is good. He is good always. He is good, always. Faith means, even if it isn't 'safe', it is, and HE is, good. I don't get out of bed knowing the day will not have pain, I get out of bed knowing that if it has pain, God knows and calls it good, for my good. 

This day has held pain. Floors with tears and a bed I didn't want to leave. His mercies are new every morning. That is true. And that I will cling to.  

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