It's a quiet day... errands... a few good deeds here and there. Lunch with a friend. Prayers along the way. "Lord, what next?" Time doesn't feel like my enemy anymore, I realize... but out of nowhere that old silent brush of melancholy sweeps over me, a little gray...and the sunlight dampens a bit. Like looking at the world through a haze from far away, I see my life and the things I wish I would've done differently. Though intermingled with the things that color me vividly with joy and peace, there are always those things that scratch off the edges and threaten to make even the best things rough and splintered.
What to do...? If Christ is the great Physician... can He heal even this completely? I actually really do believe the answer is yes...for I've found it to be true already... in small portions. And as I survey the expanses left, I wonder if perhaps it truly is the tiny, steady steps, that carry us the greatest distance. I think I am willing to test my theory... and keep taking the baby steps.
The other morning in my time alone with God He led me to the passage in Joel 2 that speaks of the "years that the locusts have eaten" being restored to the repentant heart.
Each of us has things the locusts have eaten as a result of our own failures, weaknesses, or faithlessness. There are endless lists of things we wish we could do over... that friend we wish we would've told "I love you" one more time... the choice we wish we hadn't made... the time we could've stood for truth, but didn't... the angry words we wish we could take back... the time we wasted on selfish, empty pursuits and can never take back... Each of us can fill in the blank with the heavy things that could be termed "regrets".
As I contemplated these things today, I had to think of something my dear friend Diane wrote me years ago... "The most painful aspect of a loss--any loss really--is that it's so personal. It seems to sink right to the bottom of the heart and weigh it down with the heaviness of the 'what-might-have-beens', the 'what-could-have-beens', and the 'what-once-weres'. And when our hearts are heavy, our whole body sags...powerless to withstand the least little emotional turmoil. Until, after a bit of time, and with the loving hand of God, we are able to scoop out the ashes left behind--and begin again. It is a process, a journey...a memory that changes us, in fact, as we grow; dares to create us. Like the baggage I wrote about earlier, we are travellers, collectors, nomads...we take things out, put things in...and occasionally, we rest by the wayside, and like an overflowing hope chest, we sort through the memories that fill our suitcase and measure the progress in our lives by the lessons we learned from them."
Ahhh...beautifulness that is pretty not just in words, but in reality as well. We are nomads here... collecting artifacts as we go.
As I sort through some of mine today... I hope I can dare to challenge and encourage you all--as it is very much my own personal journey--to place the archives into Christ's hands... the good and the bad... the faulty and the pure... and allow Him to scoop out the ashes of sorrow, regret, unrest, and fill the burned out space with redemption, beauty, and purpose instead.