This quote has been knocking around in my head ever since I read it the other day.
When the time came to leap in faith, whether you had your eyes open or closed or screamed all the way down or not made no practical difference.
It comforts me to think that it's the leaping that indicates faith, not how you leap. Of course, how you leap says something about the faith, but the faith is there no matter how you leap.
Sometimes, continuing to stand, or even putting one foot in front of the other occasionally, feels a lot like leaping. If I didn't believe, I think I'd just sit down and curl up or run away and anesthetize myself until it was all over. I stand up, putting my head into the darkness I don't know, or I walk forward when I can't see where I'm going, because I trust that there's something more out there.
Maybe when we stand or walk, no matter how slowly or how much we struggle, we have more faith than we think we do. It's easy to say, "Where are you, God? I can't see you and I can't feel you and I may as well pray to the wall," but when we keep standing and keep going in his name, there's faith underneath all that doubt.
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Wisdom. Faith. Grace. Becoming.
For different reasons, we're all in the crucible. We're walking through a season of intensive refinement, punctuated with celebrations and miracles. We wonder and ask, what is God doing? Where is He? And when it hurts the most, we beg for His deliverance. We struggle to open our hands and our hearts to Him even as we question His presence and purposes in this place. We cry out for Him to show us what He intends for our lives.
And then we are challenged to ask:
What if, instead of pleading His intervention, we acknowledge His presence and thank Him for these crucible moments? What if, instead of asking Him to deliver us from this place, we ask Him to deliver us in this place?
None of us knows the answer, but it is clear He has given us each other to lean in on and walk with. Our tears and prayers and questions spill together. We can each find a reason we don't quite belong, but we know all the same that He brought us together for a purpose that as of now, remains hidden in Him.
This is us, walking through it together. This is us, sojourning through a land where the line between faith and crazy is sometimes imperceptible. Reach out in the dark, and you will find the hand of a friend.
Sometimes we stand and wait, trusting that our seeming stillness somehow amounts to best honoring and serving our King. And sometimes we have the chance to open our windows so everyone can see and to say: Even if He does not show up, I will not bend my knee to another.
Dedicated to the glory of God and for the purposes of His kingdom.
Sarah, Christianne, Christin, and Kirsten
For different reasons, we're all in the crucible. We're walking through a season of intensive refinement, punctuated with celebrations and miracles. We wonder and ask, what is God doing? Where is He? And when it hurts the most, we beg for His deliverance. We struggle to open our hands and our hearts to Him even as we question His presence and purposes in this place. We cry out for Him to show us what He intends for our lives.
And then we are challenged to ask:
What if, instead of pleading His intervention, we acknowledge His presence and thank Him for these crucible moments? What if, instead of asking Him to deliver us from this place, we ask Him to deliver us in this place?
None of us knows the answer, but it is clear He has given us each other to lean in on and walk with. Our tears and prayers and questions spill together. We can each find a reason we don't quite belong, but we know all the same that He brought us together for a purpose that as of now, remains hidden in Him.
This is us, walking through it together. This is us, sojourning through a land where the line between faith and crazy is sometimes imperceptible. Reach out in the dark, and you will find the hand of a friend.
Sometimes we stand and wait, trusting that our seeming stillness somehow amounts to best honoring and serving our King. And sometimes we have the chance to open our windows so everyone can see and to say: Even if He does not show up, I will not bend my knee to another.
Dedicated to the glory of God and for the purposes of His kingdom.
Sarah, Christianne, Christin, and Kirsten
8 comments:
Amen to that, sister. I see faith in you as you stand, even though you don't quite know what it means to take the very next step. Just standing is faith, and even taking a step, any step, is continued faith.
This makes me think, too, of Kirsten's image in the forest with the wind blowing so hard. It takes all her effort to stand, yet continuing to stand is the evidence of her faith, instead of being knocked backward, curling up in a ball, or retreating.
Totally...I was thinking of Kirsten's image, as well as my own, when I was writing. And you, too, in your continuing to offer your different dreams and visions to God, asking him what he wants done with them, and Christin in her continuing on with the women's ministry even in the face of wondering if she's overwhelmed and unqualified. I think we all have more faith than we know.
Today it is hard to stand.
And I want to know if and when he will raise his hand and say, "Peace. Be still" to the wind coming against me.
How long O Lord, until you stand between me and my enemy and say: enough!? How long, O Lord, until the pruning is done?
Sometimes I think my faith is waning and weak. I do not know how He inhabits this place, but I think I trust that He does all the same, that somewhere down the line this day and the others like it will make sense somehow. But for now my vision is obscured by tears: I reached out to touch the hem of His robe tonight and He did not come.
Kirsten, my heart broke when I read your last line. I'm praying that he comes, here where you need him so badly. I wish I could be with you to hold you while you cry.
The last line broke my heart, too, friend. I'm so sorry you're walking through this. I wish I could come and stand between you and the enemy. I guess that is what happens when we pray . . . but still. I guess the truth is that I, too, wish God would raise His hand to the wind and say, "Peace, be still." Love to you, friend.
i hate that there is no escape in this place. there's no relief and while i believe that he is here, that he is present it is of little comfort to feel like he is standing idly by, watching this unfold, watching me reach out and cry out for him, but sitting in the shadows, all quiet and hidden.
my questions aren't new ones by any stretch: why won't the healer heal? why won't my rescuer rescue? why won't the Prince of Peace dispense some? and the big one: what, exactly, is He doing?
they are not new, but they are deeply personal, and i'm just fumbling along, standing up morning after morning, wondering what faith even looks like in this place, and if i'm honest, wondering if this is really all my life is.
i know He doesn't answer to me, but i'm wondering all the same.
Oh, Kirsten! My heart breaks and my tears whelm. And my brain thinks strange things. Here it is...Your faith can't be waning and weak because the circumstances continue to harden. So, even if you don't see growth in faith, it has to be growing because the ick is growing. If the ick grows and you don't retreat, even if faith feels small, it is increasing. It just feels like weakening because the circumstances are more intense. I don't think I am saying this well.
i so love the thoughts i see being shared here. they resound so deeply.
christin, i just wanted to say that i love your thought ... it totally makes sense. you are so wise!! since we're imagery loving folks, i was thinking it's like trying to keep your head above water. maybe not too impressive (especially if you're a stud like michael phelps), but if the waves get higher and crash down on you with increasing force, then it is going to take additional strength to keep from going under.
you're a smart one, you are. i love you. i love all you girls. you're my terra firma right now. you really are.
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