Dear Lord,
2015.
I wonder what you’ll have in store for me this year? What journey of faith I will stumble blindly through? The last 2 years have been hard. I admit, I’m stepping into this year a bit fearful. You’ve given me so much, yet the more you give, *gulp*, the more I have to lose. My heart beats harder at the mere thought of possibilities.
The melancholy side of me feels the subzero temperature on the edges of the house and it matches the edges of my soul. The blanket pulls up to my chest and I’d like to pull it up over my head and sit in the darkness. The moon bores a hole straight through the glass window and I realize it’s lit the landscape even before the dawn and I wonder if I’m as transparent as that.
Lord, you know I’m not afraid of a little transparency, but can we discuss ahead of time the parts you want to project before the audience of people? Can I choose the grit size that you’ll use to polish down the pagan, coarse, stained sides of my badly made choices? The ones that hold doubt like a liquid IV bag? The ones where I white knuckle my way through on a solo walk and then wonder why I feel like you and I might not be friends anymore?
Lord? Can I start over?
Instead of burying myself in bedding, can I finally, this year, learn to bury deep into your grace? Can I finally sing songs that sound a little like the praise of angels? Can I stop the madness of control and instead come quietly, slowly, before your throne and set the remote of my life into your pierced hands?
“But let all who take refuge in you rejoice;let them ever sing for joy, and spread your protection over them, that those who love your name may exult in you. For you bless the righteous, O Lord; you cover him with favor as with a shield.” Psalm 5:11,12 ESV.
Lord? If I am to be transparent, might my transparency be that of rejoicing! Let me remember that you have a purpose for me and the blessings you have given me are there because you sing for joy over me and love me beyond all those night-time stars. And keep reminding my dementia that the cold is to refresh and revive my slumbering soul and snap me awake to see all the beauty that exists. Let the words my mouth speaks be a constant merry mizzle of truth. Truth that your grace is the most fulfilling way to live.
Lord? That fear mentioned earlier? I do not take lightly the children, the husband, the friends and family all around as conveniences, but as the gifts given from you to me. And although I know loss, I also know the truth of eternal life. Give me the strength to see that the darkness of the tomb is only a quick quiet before the shattering light of wakefulness. It’s the moment before I’m drawn so close to you that your life-giving breath is all I breathe.
In pure quiet,
~kathy
kathy brower 