“To all broken & mourning, you have been given a crown of beauty & life instead of ashes (He works best from the ashes, dear one), blessings of bountiful joy instead of the garment of mourning, jubilant praise instead of sinking despair. Your righteousness is like a great oak tree; our Lord has planted you for His glory.” – Isaiah 61:3 paraphrased
It’s a mystery! This pulling and feeling so far away and yet tethered to your side. How you whisper, “come back to me”; again and again. You do not judge, but provide love instead. You stir my heart to adventure, and to hit my knees for other’s adventures. You make me long for home and a shoreline wrapped in your arms. It is the grace of a moment fully lived or mercy so undeserved it staggers. Thank you for the soft spaces. The tender wooing. The desert is a glorious space to find you; my spring of living water. You work from my ruin. You allow sorrow to paint a picture of joy and beauty.
I’m considering sorrow tonight. Sorrow is defined as a feeling of deep distress caused by loss, disappointment, or other misfortune suffered by oneself or others. These stretches of
sorrow lead to our pockets of joy. My word, “joy”! It is buoyed by sorrow. They are companionable. They enjoy each other’s company. The man of sorrows is well acquainted with our grief (Isa. 53:3). He did not come to condemn, but to bring life. He came to fulfill the Father’s will. He came to rescue the captive. He lost many, he hurt, he felt the vein of sorrow pound in His eardrums. Yet, he still fed the 5,000. He still spoke kindly and honestly with the woman at the well, offering life. He healed the cripple and caused the blind to see. He took time to let Mary sit at his feet. I love Him for these things. I love Him for the sorrow He felt and the joy He held.
Sorrows, inconveniences, heartaches will come. Yet, there is Jesus. He knows, intimately, what we are feeling. He knows the anguish of a sleepless night, a terminal parent, a painful divorce, or a sick child. He cares. He cares deeply for the things that hurt us. He ministers to us in these moments. If we allow Him, he will paint a picture of joy, fortitude, grace, and beauty with our many sorrows. He doesn’t want us to dismiss them. He invites us to pull into Him amid the distress. He wants us to feel the sorrow, like furrowed ground, for His mercy to create a space for new growth. He sees the beautiful masterpiece & understands that affliction can break us wide open for more of Him. We should allow sorrow to work this way. We should take our aching broken hearts to His feet, because sorrow can also allow the bitter root of resentment to harden our hearts, causing calloused atrophy to take root instead of life abundant.
Jesus is never dismissive of our hurt. He is also, often, not the cause of it. Yet He allows it, sweet friend, to develop our character. He can relate to our anguish because He lived it. He is the only one who can truly understand.
My friend Anna took me to see the professional dance company Ad Deum a few weeks ago. My heart well had run dry. My dear heart sputtered with an unsteady beat of weary apathy. Then Randall Flynn began to speak. The Holy Spirit fell fresh, like Pentecost. Jesus danced into the room. A poured out offering – balm of Gilead. A reservoir was created where everyone could take a cup, leaving plenty left for others.
My dance is scratching out words on parchment. Words: beautiful, seductive, transforming, moving, and fluid. These preciously chosen treasures that move past the surface into the soul of the matter. Words are always swirling around in my mind. A way of crafting what is truly written on my conscience. Sometimes they are so fluid and transparent I cannot write them clearly. They get lost in the translation between my brain and hand.
Desire is not where broken dreams go to die. A righteous desire is fire under the skin. A living and breathing thing that God uses to draw our hearts to His own. I’m learning that He dreams big for me. To sit and ponder the question, “What do I want more than anything?” leads to His tender heart for me. His purposes are written on my heart.
“This is the covenant that I will make with them after those days, says the Lord: I will put My laws into their hearts, and in their minds I will write them,” then He adds, “their sins and their lawless deeds I will remember no more.” – Hebrews 10: 16 & 17
Shutting down and going inward has always been my failsafe. As I ponder this, I realize when I do this it allows that sorrow to go deeper lancing those secret places of my being, or re-opening old wounds. It never works for my benefit to hold things in. The only resource in the midst of deep suffering is to turn to my faith and to my Jesus.
Two years ago, the traumatic and violent death of our Hope Lodge guest in front of my very eyes untethered the fabric of my faith. What was life if all we did was suffer violent ends? My heart was scorched by this unending memory. Through counseling, a year later, and much self-care and work I begin to see the light at the end of the tunnel. Yet, I had internalized so much, trying to fix it with worry. It was hard to give those pieces to God. It did its damage.
Something beautiful doesn’t have to be clean, or tied up with a neat process. Beauty is messy. It has cracks where the light can shine in. It has been used and sometimes abused. It is restored and renewed. Again, and again, He asks us to rise. He promises to renew our strength like eagles’ wings upon the wind.
We cannot preserve our heart and feel. I have fears as deep and wide as the ocean. I’ve seen things come to be that have shifted the foundation beneath my feet. Things that make me want to create a ‘safe room’ in my closet and barricade myself in the small confined space. I’m Eustace with way too much dragon skin on. I’ve tried every way I know to sloth the layers off. The only way I know how to describe this ground I’m on is God is trying to open me up – to extend the space He inhabits. This has caused the doubt that picks at the corners of my mind. Doubt in my salvation, doubt of being His, of being found out that I’m a fake. I need Jesus to be real and true (and He is).
I do not want to be found wanting. I want to see the change I seek. My Sweet Lord isn’t put off by my doubt. He isn’t surprised by it either. Even now, as I lean in, He is already there to meet me.
“Real…doesn’t happen all at once,” said the Skin Horse. “You become. It takes a long time. That’s why it doesn’t often happen to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don’t matter at all, because once you are Real you can’t be ugly, except to people who don’t understand.” – Margery Williams, The Velveteen Rabbit
My all-time favorite song to sing in church is “Where Joy and Sorrow Meet” by Avalon. You can listen to it here: https://youtu.be/BiTib_-dUwM
In the end, I want sorrow to paint a beautiful picture of joy and beauty over my life. I want to allow it to shape me into a kinder, more daring, passionate, Jesus seeking soul. I don’t want to leave this life with deep seeded regrets. I want to leave all filled up. We should never discount our pain. Let’s open a space to feel it, sit with it, allow tears to wash us clean. Then, ask Jesus to come sit with us in it. We can share in His wounds and be strengthened by His unending love.
In an exercise during my Bible study we were asked to write out why we love Jesus, here are my words:
Your beautiful HESED: your passionate covenant love for me. Jesus, you pulled me from the cleft of the rock. You took me to the desert and cut off my other lovers. You are the beautiful lion of Judah. Thank you for not getting completely frustrated and done with me. Instead, you pursue. Sweet Jesus, your restrained power astounds me. Thank you, that we can share our wounds together. I love your passion for life. I love that you pursue those who love you. I love that you defend those who worship you. You stay present with me. You aren’t too busy for me. I’m not an interruption. You give beauty for ashes. You work best from the ashes. You are an artist. I want to match my heartbeat with yours, but I know you have already matched your heartbeat with mine. You are mighty. Your majesty causes me to stand in awe. Yet, I love how gently you come. You are mindful of the lilies. Their fragrance here for a moment. I love that you made my valley of trouble a gateway of hope. I love you for wanting to go on adventures with me. I love grabbing your hand and going into the deep. There is a deep resonate desire to sit by the shoreline wrapped in your arms. I keep trying to fix things, make my life work. What I want, all I want is to sit in your presence. Oh, Jesus you are beautiful, so beautiful to me.
So, dear hearts, take your brokenness and wounds to Jesus. Let Him hold you, administer salve, and bandage your wounds. He can heal them. He wants to heal them. There is a masterpiece sketched by sorrow. It tells your story. It is a story so joyful and beautiful. Trust Him. It’s so so true.
PS. The last night of my Bible Study we were to write the new name that God had given us. In my headspace of doubt and discomfort, I didn’t expect any name. I certainly didn’t expect the one I got. As we were watching the last short video I was praying, “Jesus, please give me a name I know is from you!” I kept
hearing, even when I tried to change it, the word: MINE. Not an eloquently beautiful word. Yet, so resonate to what I’ve been feeling within my being. The sweet lady in my group, Kathy, said, “Melissa, Jesus has claimed you. He is so jealous for you and your heart. Keep pursuing this!” So, I had my word and a hope that this was just the beginning. I had questioned why I had to revisit these devastating doubts, but if I get to be affirmed that I am His it is well worth it. A beautiful tapestry of love and fortitude. He makes all things new.
“You will be called by a new name that the mouth of the Lord will bestow.” – Isaiah 62:2
Reflection of Providence 