octolilly [through the years]

Half of our small congregation was terribly sick this morning. Cold, flu, Clorox-burn, you name it.

Orchestra and ensemble was canceled for the morning and we all gathered in the sanctuary and simply sang. What began as a struggling motley crue of people attempting to worship ended in a most sacred way.

I played There is a Balm in Gilead for the offertory, Sharon sang a beautiful song, and Brendan led us in a powerful chorus of Praise to the Lord, the Almighty.

Pastor Jeff barely had voice enough to read scripture, but he opened his Bible and began softly reading from Jeremiah.

Ah Lord God! Behold, thou hast made the heaven and the earth by thy great power and stretched out arm, and there is nothing too hard for thee.

As I glanced around the congregation, I couldn’t help but see how many of us need healing in different ways. One family was full of tears this morning. Today is the day they whisper goodbye to a family member. I held a dear friend last night at the visitation and she wept as she said, waking up tomorrow is going to be so hard. Then there was the lady who is burdened for her grandson’s salvation. He visits the church occasionally and when he does you can always find him trailing after Pastor Jeff. He aches for the familiarity that we all have with each other. His home life is scarred and the name of Jesus amazes him. He’s intrigued. But not enough. And over to my left, I see two people who are attempting to swim through the academics required to attain their Master’s degree. Overwhelming to say the least. My dad was sitting in the balcony today, attempting to run the sound system. He can barely walk, and singing is well nigh impossible.

I couldn’t hold the tears back as I read the words in Jeremiah. Nothing is too hard for thee. It seems like such a simple phrase but when the God of the universe says it, my fears fade.

I will thank You for the healing, even before it comes.

“Unto you therefore which believe he is precious…”

I Peter 2:7

“There is a time for everything.
And a season for every activity under heaven.” – Ecclesiastes 3:1

I’m slowly realizing that these are not the same time.

Hungering to pick up the violin, the responsibilities of helping to teach in Sunday school, giving of my best for orchestra, working a 40 hour week, aching to read the stack of books beside the Large Comfy Chair, needing to hang the beautiful red curtains I bought to separate my little washroom area from my kitchen, gathering information on Poland so I know better how to write our Polish missionary, doing Pilates everyday and praying to God that I will not bang my feet on the glass table any longer, wanting to have the piano moved down here right away, stifling the urge to scan every single picture I have simply because I now have a gorgeous flat as pie scanner, wishing restoration was a given, feeling overwhelmed at the thought of writing 50,000 words on a topic that is very real to my heart, longing for the bitter cold days of Autumn to arrive, hoping that I’m finally learning how serious some choices are, having to figure up the cost for selling pigs (Can you believe people are wanting to BUY these pigs now? Good Lord. They are just pigs!), wanting to buy a guitar because I miss playing so much, and so much more.

But I only have 24 hours in each day. And it’s hard to balance all of that with the realization that seeking His face is most important. Maybe it’s not difficult for you. But I’m a normal girl who struggles with remembering that I wasn’t made for these tangible, small bits.

So if the curtains continue to lie on my loveseat and if the stack of books beside the Large Comfy Chair goes unread, I will at least choose to do the things that matter right now.

I’m learning my limits.

I found myself opening an old hat box this morning. The lid doesn’t fit properly, and so I tugged on it for quite sometime before it came loose.

Part of me didn’t want to open it, especially knowing that I’d end up in tears. But part of me ached to remember.

The letters and cards were filled with memories that gripped me tightly. And now I sit weeping.

In one letter, I found this quote by C. S. Lewis:

“Though our feelings come and go, His love for us does not. It is not wearied by our sins, or our indifference; and, therefore, it is quite relentless in its determination that we shall be cured of these sins, at whatever cost to us, at whatever cost to Him.”

I never imagined the cost would hurt so much.

Oh Father, teach me to have revulsion for sin. Always.

“Of the things that I hate when I look at my life,
the worst is my being alone…”

– Don Chaffer

Zephaniah 3:17 says, The LORD thy God in the midst of thee is mighty; he will save, he will rejoice over thee with joy; he will rest in his love, he will joy over thee with singing.

There is a name written beside that verse.

I stepped out of my familiar box tonight. Made a decision that I might regret in the morning. Not because it was wrong (I very strongly felt the Lord leading me to do it), but because fears have a way of becoming stronger with time.

But after reading that verse in Zephaniah, listening to Watermark’s new cd, and a thought-filled drive back from Anderson tonight… I am left with the impression that stepping out of the box is sometimes necessary.

You repair all that we have torn apart
And You unveil a new beginning in our hearts
And we stand grateful for all that has been left behind
And all that goes before us

We will dance as you restore the wasted years
And You will sing over all our coming fears
And we’ll stand grateful for all that has been left behind
And all that goes before us

Lord, You mend the breech
And You break every fetter
And You give us Your best
For what we thought was better
And You are to be praised…