I had the blessing of an hour down by the Boise River this week in one of my very favorite spots. I don’t remember the last time I was there — maybe nine years? And as my body sat, soaking in the quiet and the beauty and the restfulness, my mind was transported back to a very stressful event about a year ago.
I remembered the scene, the feelings, my body bent double. I remember the helplessness, the complete absence of options, and a horror so acute there was no release in tears. I could do nothing, in fact, but pray — over and over — “Lord, Lord, we need Your help.”
Anguish is the word that came to mind. I was in anguish. Over a year ago, but fresh enough for the stress to course through my body again and the painful pit to form in my stomach.
And I asked the Lord as I took deep breaths and looked at the river flowing by, where were You? I believe You were there with me. I know it in my heart, not just my mind, but where were You? And in my mind’s eye I could imagine Him, kneeling there beside me, His hand on my shoulder, His eyes, too, filled with anguish at what was happening.
Not the same anguish, of course. He was not overwhelmed by helplessness, or a lack of power to right the situation — for of course He could have knit things together again with a snap of His fingers, He could have even rewound time if He’d wanted to. I think the sorrow He felt was the pain of those He loved, and so He was there with us — silent, but there.
There’s another moment seared in my memory. Joy at the airport, standing in the corner by the police station. She’s been brave for weeks, but especially today. She was so excited to go to America. She’s mostly held it together, mature beyond her years, through weeks of stressful and emotional goodbyes and the spectre of a complete and total life change she senses but is unable to comprehend. But today, today she’s ready to see her cousins and she’s had it.
And finally, irrevocably, the police say no. I watch her face as it crumples and something small and hard inside me rages.
But I am long familiar with helplessness and the inefficacy of rage, so instead of raging I dropped my bag, turned my back to the callous police as no longer relevant, and I picked her up and let her weep.
I didn’t try to explain complex geopolitics and the power plays of frenemy countries. There were no explanations sufficient to her age, there were no words of comfort, so I held her until her tears were done. And then — just as He did for me in that doubled-over place of anguish, and then again a few days after that moment in the airport, as I hid from my daughter and wept my own bitter I’ve-had-enough tears — I grabbed her hand and shouldered her bag, and we moved on to what was next.
My friends, it occurred to me this morning as I read the Beatitudes, that I would rather know the rough and calloused feel of His hand as He leads me forward through the valley of the shadow of death, then read about it from the sunny rim above.
I would rather feel the weight of that steady and comforting hand on my shoulder in my moment of greatest grief, then hear someone else talk about the time it happened to them.
And I would rather experience His presence as it slowly seeps through my body, replacing stress with the peace that does, in fact, transcend understanding, than have avoided the stressful event altogether.
And that’s the rub, isn’t it. Until we enter death valley, until we drown in a storm of grief, until we’re being devoured by lions we can no longer fight off — everything we know about Him is hypothetical. Theoretical. The cold calculation of textbook knowledge.
Blessed are those who have found themselves in the deep end, overcome by an unending series of storms, and drowned — for they will know what it’s like to be rescued, to lay powerless in His all-powerful arms as He swims them out of the torment.
Blessed are those who burn in a fire not of their own making, whose very cells cry out in pain as the flames devour them — for they will taste the Living Water on their lips and, if He chooses not to douse the flames, they will see His flesh melt along with their own.
Blessed are the over-tired, who have gone so far past their own strength and ability to cope that they wake up each day broken down by the side of the road, for they will use His all-sufficient moment-by-moment sustaining grace to keep moving forward one day at a time.
Blessed are the fractured, for they will be put back together by gentle hands.
Blessed are the sick, for they will feel His cooling hand on their brow.
Blessed are those who are not sufficient to meet their circumstances, because they will come face to face with the One who is.
Blessed are those who know He’s there in the storm, because He’s always been there…those who’ve tasted and seen His goodness in the light, so they’re able to trust Him when it’s too dark to see His face…those who cling to promises made because they’ve experienced promises kept.
Blessed are those to whom He has revealed Himself — to those who know with everything in their being, that He is here, so it is well.
So true and so beautiful!