A Shattered Paradox

Those dear friends in my listening circle already know I've been walking through the desert lately. Life seems to stretch as an empty wasteland of fatigue and frustration and insecurities. I feet stumble with trepidation. Even though I know I'm not alone, I can echo David's lament in Psalm 102:6-7.

In a fit of anger, my child ripped his paper hearts off the door and shredded my tokens of affection for him. Another child screams in my face and declares his hatred over me. I feel this bombardment of guilt and the sting of not-good-enough.

I've been told "Don't take it personally." But, how can I not? They are my persons. Therefore, in the words of Meg Ryan (You've Got Mail), "What's so wrong with being personal, anyway? Whatever else anything is, it ought to begin by being personal."

Now before you start saying, "Well, that's just stupid. You can't make everyone's business personal to you." I know. Thus, the fatigue. Even so, I need to carry this burden and find ways to help those who are burdened around me. I want to care without carrying the care of complete repair (the care of God).  Does that make sense?

I fluctuate between this overwhelmed sense of my emotional attachment and this refusal to express anything but resentful anger (a protective mechanism?). Dumbfounded, I wonder over the irony of my current state of affairs; I'm writing a book on the influence of emotions, weighed on the scale of biblical understanding and human design. We live in this paradoxical tension of falling in head first or abandoning the waters all together.

And I keep hearing this word: broken. It reverberates in my soul and mocks through the shattered pieces surrounding me. Relationships fracture and my emotions crumble into shards of sharp glass. I hate it. It's messy; how am I supposed to carry around this broken jumble? How am I supposed to make things better with broken?

I'm on the treadmill, reading these words from a kindred spirit. I'm amazed at the timing of it all: "Never be afraid of being a broken thing. [...] There is no growth without change, no change without surrender, no surrender without wound--no abundance without breaking. Wounds are what break open the soul to plant the seeds of a deeper growth.

"My dad told me this once. For a seed to come fully into its own, it must become wholly undone. The shell must break open, its insides must come out, and everything must change. If you didn't under- stand what life looks like, you might mistake it for complete destruction."

"I whisper to the Farmer, one line that unfolds like willing, cupped hands: 'Brokenness can make abundance.'

"And the weight of hell shifts almost imperceptibly to feel more like the weight of glory, even if I'm not quite sure yet if that greater grace will come" (The Broken Way).

I need to examine the pieces, but I am not going to be the one to pick them up. I am going to let Him do it; it may take longer than feels comfortable and I may find my brokenness more exposed, making me feel all the more unstable and insecure. But, my security can't rest in my wholeness; for I am whole when I am broken and humble before Him--not when I feel put together. He doesn't despise this shattered life like I do (Psalm 51:17). Life a dandelion blow to all corners of the lawn, I will allow the seeds to scatter and trust that He has a plan to redeem this brokenness.

As Ann Voskamp says, "The miracle happens in the breaking."

Walking through the Desert

Psalm 61:2, I cry to you for help "when my heart is overwhelmed. Lead me to the rock that is higher than I" (KJV).

Psalm 13 How long, O Lord? Will you forget me forever?

    How long will you hide your face from me?
2 How long must I take counsel in my soul
    and have sorrow in my heart all the day?
How long shall my enemy be exalted over me?

3 Consider and answer me, O Lord my God;
    light up my eyes, lest I sleep the sleep of death,
4 lest my enemy say, “I have prevailed over him,”
    lest my foes rejoice because I am shaken.

5 But I have trusted in your steadfast love;
    my heart shall rejoice in your salvation.
6 I will sing to the Lord,
    because he has dealt bountifully with m

Empty. 

Open the cabinet doors and the cupboard is depleted. I'm down to a bag of dry beans and a dusty can of pickled beets. And someone just asked me to make a gourmet meal for a dozen people, using only what's available. How's that going to happen?

For years I've been told, God is your source. Don't look to anyone else to meet your spiritual or emotional needs. He is the one that fills you when you are depleted. What wasn't as clear was how a person actually tapped into the resources of God. The analogies abound (a cord to an electric outlet, gas to a car, sun to a plant, etc.), but what does that process of connecting look like? I'm reading, I'm praying, I'm here. So, now what? Is the extension cord too short?

Lately, when I've come to God, desperate for renewal, I've pleaded and begged, "Will you fill me? I'm so depleted right now." I'm seeking Him, so where is this abundant feasting and flowing river? (Psalm 36). Feels more like a few drops in the sand. Doesn't do much to quench my thirst and it's far from taking me to a place where I'm overflowing and able to love others well. 

My love is dried up. And I know apart from Him, I don't have much to give. (I John 4 is disturbing at best). I work and try and try some more, but my efforts leave me bitter, frustrated and depressed. It's coming out of me, not Him.

It's the vicious cycle of clenching and unclenching my hands. Am I willing to say, "Here I am" or am I more into protective mode? Lately, the questions and pain have left little energies for anything or anyone else. My heart is hurting and full of guilt. Where do I go now, Lord? What do I do with this junk? How do I repair this?

I'd love to say that all is regenerating and in bloom, but I'm still walking through some desert fringes. Even so, I'm more at peace with the discomfort. Answers are on the horizon and God hasn't left me alone (despite what I may feel at times). 

When you find yourself in the barren lands, what do you do? How does the Father coax you back to the water? What restores your connection to Him and others?