Thursday, June 05, 2008


It seems as though I am on the verge of something.

For a season, I was perplexed by the circumstances surrounding me. Compassion turned into a battle with bitterness and questions with no clear answers. A job I love slowly became a position where I struggled to keep a steady pace and feel as though I were challenging myself to grow. The joy of family surrounding me in a colorful variety of names, faces, personalities and walks of life was somehow replaced with a fear that I would, eventually, be let down once again. People come. People go. And I end up being the last one trying to keep the bond alive.

Brick by brick, the wall started to rise. It blocked out even the light of the One whose love is as close to me as breath is to life. I got restless. Discontent. I felt like there was something more I should be doing. Somewhere else I should be going. Someone else I should be getting to know. Something else. Anything else. It was as if everything on my inside, both good and bad, wanted out. Badly.

I kept in the back of my mind the realization that such struggles plague people my age. We are an often wandering and wonderfully diverse generation of twentysomethings. I hated the fact that disillusionment often comes hand in hand with risk, challenge, adventure and new seasons. I felt like there had to be a balance in the whole thing.

Something—or more so, someone—to hold me in place, even if I was physically drifting around the country and struggling to feel at home in the place where I paid rent. Amidst the walls where I hung my own artwork. Sitting on the futon that had been host to many sessions of writing, deep conversations, cups of tea, tears shed and laughter released. Running my fingers along my trusty Kurzweil that had helped translate my deepest emotions into notes, melodies and lyrics.

My heart hurts often. That, I have come to realize, is not an entirely bad thing. And as I write this, I must confess that the season I speak of is not entirely passed. So much of it remains in me, but piece by piece, God has pulled it out of me and set it on the table. He stands next to me, His arm wrapped tightly around my shoulders. I can almost see His eyes—full of wisdom, compassion, kindness, correction, guidance. In this moment, He is my Father. My defender. My constant. That will never change, of course. But I will, inevitably.

Isn’t that the beauty of grace? Its foundation is in a God who has always been and always will be.

I AM WHO I AM, He thundered to Moses through the burning bush.

He remains. He abides. He lives. He dwells. Not off in some unreachable universe, but with us. It seems like such a simple statement: Emmanuel, God with us. But the significance is earth shattering. Heart wrenching. Mind blowing. Insurmountable by our limited human intellect. But nonetheless, it brings us to life—body, mind and spirit. And in the midst of my restlessness and distraction, He keeps reminding me that He is right here.

Watching. Dwelling. Breathing. Inspiring. Creating. Moving. He is changing me. Changing him. Changing her. Changing us. Until we finally realize that community, in its truest form, is when we are unified with Christ. Only then can we be truly unified with one another. This Kingdom, this life that pursues His calling, cannot be quenched by a mere season of disillusionment. It keeps going on regardless of my painful, shameful failures. Because He is perfect. He is good. He is loving. He is God.

He is here.


Blogger cool mum said...

for the past few months we've felt like we're on the verge of something too...thanks for speaking truth!

3:45 PM  
Blogger Rachel said...

Sure thing, CM. Honestly, I sometimes feel like I don't have a choice whether or not to speak truth. It would burn me up inside if I didn't get it out. Yes.

:) Thanks for reading as well. You guys are definitely cool.

6:48 PM  
Blogger Brad said...

Good stuff, R.


12:48 PM  

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