My beautiful friend, Missy, is the FFS guest author today. She is quirky, tells THE most wonderful stories, and is another good friend of mine from high school. She blogs at Blog, Blog Like the Wind. Be sure to visit her and tell her hello.
Let’s boast in the Lord together!!
Five and a half years ago, I received the worst phone call I have ever received. Two days later, I got on a plane with my fourth child, then just 10 weeks old, to attend the hardest graveside service I have ever witnessed. I’ve been through a few things in my life. And I’ve seen other people go through a whole lot more.
Some things are just harder than others. Some things don’t go away.
When I returned home, I attempted to reconcile the things I knew before that funeral with what I knew following it. I wanted time to be alone with my own thoughts. My own grief. But I had four kids and the youngest didn’t even know where her own fist was. But there were snatches of clarity in quiet moments and I stole them when I could. That first week home, I found myself outside our church building trying to soothe an exhausted baby. My thoughts marched in like weary soldiers. When I got home that night, I sat down at my laptop and typed what my fingers forced me to type. I had nothing that night to boast in but the unlimited power and comfort of my God. The same is still true today.
There’s just not enough Missy to go around. How many times have I thought this? I thought this with the second child and now there are 4, one for each limb. On days when they decide to each grab one, I am frozen. Paralyzed. Unable to move. On days when one needs everything, the others get practically nothing. On days when one decides to cry incessantly, the others ultimately do the same and someone doesn’t get helped. We have a phrase that came to life during a 10-hour drive over Thanksgiving weekend: “It’s not your turn to have a crisis.” Why? Because we can only handle one crisis at a time. I fall so short of the needed result. If one day I am a great mother, I am a flop as a wife. If I soar as a wife, I disappear as a friend. If I am investing as a friend, a parent or brother or child may get ignored or even snapped at. In no particular order. It’s just what is. That perfect balance is hard to strike.
That week I was especially aware. That week I would never forget.
My mind was churning and moaning over things much too big for it when I received a text message from a local friend about an urgent matter that was totally unrelated to the one sitting like lead in my broken heart. She and one other needed prayers. Right then. Intensely. I was so spent already (see above paragraph if you’ve already forgotten my limitations.) Could I bother my Father again? I was already asking so much of Him. Did I have the ability to shift my focus for even 5 minutes? Could I even find the words? I did. I leaned over my bathroom sink and uttered a rather weakly-worded prayer. And as I was begging Him to put His mighty hand into yet another situation, it occurred to me that He has absolutely no limitations. The same God that has my dear friends curled up in the palm of His hand is also with the ones here that needed him and with the mothers in Zimbabwe who had to feed their toddler sand that day and with the guy who is fighting brain cancer.
There is enough Jehovah God to go around…12 baskets over.
I mulled on this as I rocked my sweet angel-breathed baby to sleep against my chest outside the church building last night. Inside, people were bent over their Bibles. Outside, cars were zipping by providing the gentle white-noise lullaby that sent Jenna into her peaceful place. My mind was not at rest as hers was. I envied her innocence. What is this feeling? Is it simply loss? Is it homesickness? Both? Can it be named or cured? I didn’t know then and I don’t know now. But in its racing method of casting about for a place to settle, my mind made the leap to the three days after Jesus had been brutally executed before the eyes of all who trusted Him. Sometimes the ink of the page takes the edge off what they witnessed and the grief it left them with. They had invested everything into Him and His message and on that day, they watched it all crumple. It was just gone. They didn’t understand. What would they do now? What would become of their nation? What would become of them? What would become of Jesus Himself?
I imagine they were still asking themselves those questions when they looked up and there He stood. For three days, they had been casting about in anguish, wondering how they’d make it another day. Their answer was a Risen Savior.
That’s my answer too.
I don’t know the answers to all the questions along the way and some are much, much harder to answer than others.
But I know what’s on the last page.
God is everything.
And that’s worth boasting about.
My name is Missy. I am 40, married for 17 years to a man who would not let me break up with him. In the amount of time it took me to try to think up a more creative way to break it off, I fell for him. Now the mother of four quirky children, I am both blessed to overflowing and desperate enough to talk to strangers on a full-time basis. I love living. I love God more. Most of my life’s efforts amount to moments of “Now what do we do?” I blog at Blog, Blog Like the Wind.
What question are you asking right now? Give it to Jesus.