Surely we have ridden a ridiculous rollercoaster of emotions in the past two weeks. What looked as if it was a way out was simply oasis, temporary respite to keep me steadily walking in the dryest desert I have known thus far. As I have preached to others, I preach once more to myself: the desert is where God forms and forges His people to be His own. I thirst.
My idol that longs and grasps and kicks and screams for control and success has flung itself onto the ground like a toddler mid-tantrum in public, I want, I want, I want. Are you really a good Father?
In walking, maybe being dragged, crawling through the past year, I can in peace say that He is, He always is, He is always good. The independent, first-born, stubborn brute I can be is finding out the hardest way possible, repeated over and over again, that weakness is the way. I can not ignore the list of “blessed bes” that Jesus proclaims, fighting to find a different direction when life does what it never fails to do. The paradox of a full lament is that it also seethes with hope, grace upon grace, never forgetting that His mercies are new every single day.
My cup overflows.