We have this hope as an anchor for the soul, firm and secure…. ~ Hebrews 6:19
God and I. That was it. Fresh out of miracles it seemed. God and I. In the face of death, it’s either that or nothing at all. There was no one to blame, no sign, no job, no certainty, no cure in sight, and no telling what God had in mind. I was alone with God, holy in his determined, unpredictable will. That was it, a place of both alarming aloneness and tender communion.
I don’t want this to sound too pious or sentimentally spiritual; whatever this process entailed, it was certainly not devout or sweet. I was really frightened. These days were filled with the peculiar and strangling frenzy of waiting. I cried a lot, worried a lot, questioned a lot, felt lost, slept little, and beyond all of that, God began to touch me deeply.
I started being honest, dreadfully honest. I felt the freedom to do not just the right thing, but the real thing. I didn’t like the idea of death. Death is, for me, the great intruder.
I was angry with God that he would ask me even to consider it.
I had questions for which I didn’t think God had the answers, or if he did, he wasn’t willing to share them with me. And when I asked those questions, a surprising thing happened: what was meant as confrontation became release. Far from resenting my questions, God welcomed them. He bore the pain in the questions just as Christ bore the cross. In my confusion, I may have wanted to wound him, but he only bled for me. In expressing what was really going on inside me – the anger, hurt, the rage against dying – he comprehended my pain and translated my helplessness into certain strength. I don’t know how. I don’t know much about such grace.
God and I. And in the dropping of I, just God. That was it, no answers, no specifics on a night beach, no concluding refrain. Just of letting go of it, all of it, and in the release, in the dying itself, the seed of hope. I know it sounds backward, but I have found that the deepest moments in my life have always been the least contrived. In the release of control, I have found humbling power. In the chaos, I have found moments of sustaining peace.
God gave no answers, then, just his presence. Just that. And his grace was sufficient.
~ devotion written by Deforia Lane