There’s just this strange and uncomfortable ebb and flow that happens in life, that happens in our brokenness towards Jesus. I spend weeks sort of avoiding Him, trapping myself under the covers and pretending that I’ve got nothing to do for the day, pretending that there’s no life to be lived outside of that fabric igloo.
Then, hopefully, after some time, things begin to chip away. I peek through a hole to see who’s on the outside, I stick my nose out against the cool air to breathe, and all at once the blanket is off and I’m with Him again and it’s time to dream.
My mom bought me this book while my parents were visiting us this week. It’s the journey of a couple who travels around England for a few months, just because “It will be fun,” they said.
We itch and yearn to see the world, but that’s not what finally brought me out from under darkness.
People need to dream. People need to hope for good future things.
And it’s not enough for me to just sit around, hoping without any upward, lifted trust. It’s not enough unless I ask for the open doors and then wait and see what happens.
After my parents left, I opened up my big teal journal and began again. I breathed in the cold, rainy Georgia air and surrendered.
I’m dreaming things, I’m hoping things and asking for more to pour out of me in my surrenders. It’s that whole ask, seek, knock idea, right? I think Jesus meant every word.
I’m leading this little community group on Wednesday nights right now, and I’m so happily surprised every time someone opens up to share. Last week we pondered a Brennan Manning quote and we remembered our past, and we celebrated the gifts that have poured forth as a result of our experiences. We shared so well, we ran out of time, and my heart was just bursting, because I knew that meant something holy happened.
I’ve been been stuck more in the ebb than in the flow lately, stuck in the retreat instead of in the moving forward. It’s not just about our past, about getting over something and moving on. It’s actually about remembering who we are, recognizing that there’s not much movement under the blanket, not much but musty air and simmering guilt.
So we remember to breathe life in– the spring air, the mountain crisp, the wispy wind– all of it. And we surrender to each other and to God so much that we run out of time, because we just can’t get it all out, can’t experience enough holiness in one day.
And we say Hallelujah that He is patient with us in our coming and in our going.
Let’s give ourselves to surrender today. Read, write, share, release.
And tell me if you don’t find something holy in that scarce place, something holy in yourself.