I went to bed last night with this verse running through my head: "They have healed the wound of my people lightly, saying 'Peace, peace,' when there is no peace" (Jeremiah 6:14).
Last night was not a restful night.
When I pray, I often do so with mental images. In the past, when a great grief has weighed on my heart, I have prayed something like, "Father, this is too heavy for me. I cannot carry it. I am giving it to you. Do with it what you will." And as I prayed, I would visualize the grief, cupped in my upturned hands. I would lift that grief up to God, and as I prayed, I visualized myself handing it over to God, releasing it from my grasp.
But last night was different.
Last night, it was a different kind of grief. It was woven too deeply into the fibers of my heart. My mind probed this grief like a surgeon, searching for a way to extricate it, but every poke, every prod, every thought brought such great pain that my courage and my resolve failed.
Last night, I prayed a different prayer. "Father, this nettle is so deeply embedded and is so terribly painful that I cannot pull it out. You must remove it." In my mind, I did not picture uplifted hands. I lay flat on my back, chest open, braced against the pain, and I waited for God himself to reach his hand down into my heart to deal with my grief.
Last night was a long, painful night. But no surgery lasts forever.
As black faded to less black outside my bedroom window, I thought of the challenge my youngest so often gives me: "Mom, what do you know is true?" The answer, always: "God is sovereign. God is good. And, He loves me very much."
I have been camped out in Romans the past couple of months. As I lay weeping, verses from Romans 8 flooded my thoughts:
"For I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory that is to be revealed to us."
"Likewise, the Spirit helps us in our weakness. For we do not know what to pray for as we ought, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us with groanings too deep for words. And he who searches hearts [Ah! My great heart Surgeon!] knows what is the mind of the Spirit, because the Spirit intercedes for the saints according to the will of God. And we know that for those who love God all things work together for good, for those who are called according to his purpose."
"What then shall we say to these things? If God is for us, who can be against us? He who did not spare his own Son but gave him up for us all, how will he not also with him graciously give us all things? Who shall bring any charge against God's elect? It is God who justifies. Who is to condemn? Christ Jesus is the one who died - more than that, who was raised - who is at the right hand of God, who indeed is interceding for us."
"Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall tribulation, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or danger, or sword?...No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. For I am sure that...[NOTHING!] in all creation will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord."
As the sky changed from less-black to almost-gray, my tears subsided. The night's surgery was complete. My heart was still sore, but the darkness was lifting. Exhausted, I prayed, "Thank you, Father."
The sun crawled up over the eastern horizon, and a soft cloud-filtered light crept across the frozen hayfield outside. A thousand-thousand ice crystals sparkled in the pale light of dawn. Right now, when I look up from my computer and gaze out the kitchen window, my eyes behold a world of fairy splendor - ice crystals, shimmering silver and white, blanketing the golden stubble of last summer's hay. The beauty takes my breath away.
But even more beautiful...
This morning, God had me reading in Job, and in Matthew. I opened to the last chapter of Job, and read one of my favorite passages:
"I know that you can do all things, and that no purpose of yours can be thwarted...I had heard of you by the hearing of the ear, but now my eye sees you; therefore I despise myself, and repent in dust and ashes."
Job had three friends who came to him in his grief to offer counsel. Their counsel was informed by and infused with what they understood and believed about God. Yet at the end of the book of Job, God brings this indictment against Job's friends: "You have not spoken of me what is right, as my servant Job has."
I have friends like that. Their counsel compounds grief. While unwittingly wounding my already tender heart, these friends distress me even more by their misrepresentation of God. I am grieved for myself, and I am grieved for them. I am a drowning man, surrounded by drowning men. I want desperately to help those around me, but I cannot even save myself. Lord, what can I do?!
This morning, God answered that question, right there in the last chapter of Job: "My servant Job shall pray for you, for I will accept his prayer not to deal with you according to your folly." Yes! Yes, I can pray for these friends! Thank you, Lord!
And then, over in Matthew, chapter 5, God applied this powerful balm to my surgery-sore heart:
"And [Jesus] opened his mouth and taught them, saying:
"Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
"Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted.
"Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth.
"Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they shall be satisfied.
"Blessed are the merciful, for they shall receive mercy.
"Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God.
"Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called sons of God.
"Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness' sake, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
"Blessed are you when others revile you and persecute you and utter all kinds of evil against you falsely on my account. Rejoice and be glad, for your reward is great in heaven, for so they persecuted the prophets who were before you..."
This morning, I am compelled to testify: God is faithful. His steadfast love endures forever. His tender mercies are new every morning.
I am not so naive as to think that a deep heart-wound will heal instantly. I expect that recovering from this latest round of "surgery" will take time. If you see me out this week, I will probably be quieter than normal, and a little gray around the edges. I am very, very tired. I cry easily. But if you are one of those who loves me, I want you to know that underneath my sorrow, God has met me with a deep and satisfying joy: He has met me with Himself.
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"Sing praises to the LORD, O you his saints, and give thanks to his holy name. For his anger is but for a moment, and his favor is for a lifetime. Weeping may tarry for the night, but joy comes with the morning." Psalm 30:4-5
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