I sit here, at four in the morning, dead tired and unable to sleep, listening to Keith Green's Grace By Which I Stand, and I'm crying.
Why?
Because the sing is true. It is only by grace that I stand. Only by grace that I live. I have seen things even my family has not seen. I know things even they do not know, and they have a story to make you weep. Were it not for the grace of God that upholds me every day, I would have long ago given up. I would have let myself die. I could. But I can't.
Do not get me wrong. I long for the grace and presence of God. Long for it. Ache for it, and every time I get a taste it's not enough. But why! Why...why is it that some wounds will not heal, and some things only God can know?
I remember in my letter to God, asking him for a friend, a real friend, and wondering why he had brought me to a place with no church, no people to simply talk to without feeling as though they had an agenda. Where I could be me.
There is more I could ask, but I won't. Because he saved me, and such is the selfish questions of one who has been redeemed from eternal death. How now could I tell my Savior it is not enough?
But I want to. Part of me, God save me, is still not satisfied. Part of me hurts and knows the truth of this: Hope deferred makes the heart sick. (and the body) Yes, I know I can come to him with everything. But shall I be ungrateful? Shall I demand what God is not ready to give, like the man who took his father's inheritance and spent it on prostitutes? Shall I squander my gifts in complaining, and receive the same penalty as the Israelites? Shall I wander forty more years in the desert? God forbid!
Jesus...
Such questions, such emotions, are made to drive a man mad. Such things split my mind, divide my loyalties and break my will.
Yet this I know: the Lord is my shepherd. He leads me beside still waters, he makes me lie down in green pastures, he restores my soul. He leads me in paths of righteousness for his names sake. Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for your rod and staff, they comfort me. He prepares a table before me in the presence of my enemies; my cup runs over. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days if my life, and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.
Monday, December 1
Sunday, November 23
Wandering Child (II)
Eric turns, his face hidden in shadow, only his huge chest sjowing in the dim half-light.
"I have no grief," he denies.
Marie puts a hand on his arm, and he stands there, frozen, trembling.
"Your body betrays you," she says, so softly her voice is all but swallowed up by the shadows. "Please, Eric, don't do this."
"You are no longer alive," Eric says, his voice as quiet as the stars obscured by cloud. His voice is rich with rage. "Not to me. Why should I acknowledge you now? You would not acknowledge me!" He whirls.
"I know who you are," Marie pleads. "Please, my love...my darling...not all is what it seemed." Her voice breaks. She sits on a crate and folds her skirts around her knees. She hugs her knees to her chest and hopes that her captor does not strike her again as Eric whirls.
"You left me," Eric says, and now there is real emotion in his voice. He keeps his face to the shadows, and Marie cannot see him, but she knows he is there. "I wanted you to be my wife. Why did you not accept?" His obsession, and his love, began to stir in his voice. "Who are you to deny me?"
"Oh, Eric," Marie says, "Eric, my love, I have always loved you. But my father...and my brother...forced me into a marriage to a man of respect."
"I know well what People said of me in the light," Eric said, his voice hard. "I was not rich or successful enough for them, was I? Oh no, I was the poor traveler's boy. All I had was my love.But my love was never enough!" His voice had risen to a scream, and Marie covered her face against the rage in his voice. "I know who it was you wanted! I know you never loved me. No, you loved that rich scab who cared nothing for you."
Marie trembled. "It's true," she said. "At one time I loved your enemy. But I cannot love him anymore."
(to be continued)
"I have no grief," he denies.
Marie puts a hand on his arm, and he stands there, frozen, trembling.
"Your body betrays you," she says, so softly her voice is all but swallowed up by the shadows. "Please, Eric, don't do this."
"You are no longer alive," Eric says, his voice as quiet as the stars obscured by cloud. His voice is rich with rage. "Not to me. Why should I acknowledge you now? You would not acknowledge me!" He whirls.
"I know who you are," Marie pleads. "Please, my love...my darling...not all is what it seemed." Her voice breaks. She sits on a crate and folds her skirts around her knees. She hugs her knees to her chest and hopes that her captor does not strike her again as Eric whirls.
"You left me," Eric says, and now there is real emotion in his voice. He keeps his face to the shadows, and Marie cannot see him, but she knows he is there. "I wanted you to be my wife. Why did you not accept?" His obsession, and his love, began to stir in his voice. "Who are you to deny me?"
"Oh, Eric," Marie says, "Eric, my love, I have always loved you. But my father...and my brother...forced me into a marriage to a man of respect."
"I know well what People said of me in the light," Eric said, his voice hard. "I was not rich or successful enough for them, was I? Oh no, I was the poor traveler's boy. All I had was my love.But my love was never enough!" His voice had risen to a scream, and Marie covered her face against the rage in his voice. "I know who it was you wanted! I know you never loved me. No, you loved that rich scab who cared nothing for you."
Marie trembled. "It's true," she said. "At one time I loved your enemy. But I cannot love him anymore."
(to be continued)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
