We spend… too little time experiencing the griefs themselves. The result is that these griefs remain hidden and never open us to our joys. ~David Whyte as quoted in God in the Yard.
Branches litter the yard from yesterday’s wind, and leaves block the garage door. A political sign lies in the side yard.
The morning is gray and misty, and I am on the porch.
The birds are strangely silent except for a jay’s squawk from the woods on my left and a crow caw from across the field on my right. A lone goose flies overhead.
Dora warms my legs, and Darjeeling warms my hands.
I pick up God in the Yard, curled and bent.
Chapter 4–Weep: Celebration.
I’ve read this chapter many times.
I’d prefer to stay on chapter 3 (Contemplation) or move on to chapter 5 (Gratitude).
I do not want to do this.
I do not want to go there.
Because it’s a grief that tortures me.
Shreds my heart.
It’s a giant thorn that stabs deep.
It was a time of chaos and fear and desperation.
And me gasping.
Panting for relief.
For all of us.
On my knees.
A huge sacrifice for one I love desperately. One living in desperation.
“Lord, I am willing. Whatever it takes. If this is wrong, slam the door.”
He did not.
And peace reigned.
But an outward peace.
A false peace.
From a false light.
From a wolf in sheep’s clothing.
Alone. Heart littered with brokenness.
It had happened before.
But justice was not served.
And we were not warned.
And we sought justice.
And justice was served.
At a price.
I wept not for me but for another.
I was so mad at God.
I yelled at God.
I beat His chest while He held me.
He knew and did not protect.
He knew and did not provide.
He knew and did not care.
It might have happened anyway.
It might have been worse.
Perhaps I did not have control after all.
He. Is. Sovereign.
He creates the most beauty from the most broken.
He brings all things together for good.
In His time.
I crawl into His lap and whimper.
And He brushes the damp hair from my cheek.
And He whispers, “I know. I was there. I am here.”
He knows my heart.
And it is enough.
He is enough.
And I celebrate.
Linking today with Bonnie at the Faith Barista as she asks, “How Am I Hearing From God?” (Although this may better fit next week’s topic, “Shaking Off Feelings of Guilt.)
Also sharing in Emily’s Imperfect Prose on Thursdays where broken writers spill their crumbs.