...We Wait

You the know the story of Jonah, right? That prophet from the Old Testament who in hearing the new word of the Lord ran away to Tarshish, almost killed all that were with him (innocent bystanders), swallowed by a fish, preached repentance to Nineveh, and then waited for God to destroy the sinners. But when God heard their cries, Jonah cursed God and wished he could die - but not over the city but over the shelter of a plant that God caused to bring forth and then a caterpillar ate away.

If you are like me, you do a double take at that end statement. He cursed God and wished he could die, over a plant. Don't think about Nineveh for a second, think about the fact that something so small could cause such grief, how it could overwhelm his soul unto death....
Jonah certainly had trust issues. Even though he had been saved from a storm, and delivered from the stomach of the fish - and that he had even heard the words of God and shared them a responsive people. Nope, the plant dying was the thing that showed that his heart was in distress. For this God who he thought he knew was not the God who would've saved Nineveh. His entire worldview, his faithful interpretation of God was crumbling around him and at that moment the only rational thing was to curse, wail, and mourn the loss of temporary shelter.

Ouch....

I mean really, ouch...

I've heard God speak, acted as His mouthpiece, witnessed healing, heard His call and here in this moment an employee walking out without any notice was that which I doubted God and cursed His name. Yeah Jonah my friend, I fear you and I would've been kindred souls in that moment.

It was a year ago when life took another turn, where everything began to change, when the word pastor was first uttered from my mouth. It was like speaking in an unknown language - it's very tone seemed unfamiliar and foreign from my lips. But there it was, and for a while I walked in it. I wrestled, and I cried, a lot. I spoke in energetic hope, my character was changing, my family growing but then the walls started to come down. You see that unfamiliar word would do more than leave my lips, they would crash down all my nice sets, the cracked foundations would be made barren and even then we'd have to start over. The clay would have to sit, the cement turn and dry - the season of dry, painful tearing down had begun and I didn't have a clue till I was sitting in its rubble.

In the autumn once again, and no new word has been uttered. Rather I've asked to give up the word given. I've ask to return the gift, to let this pass. Had I known what it would cost in my own soul, well I don't know if I would have opened my mouth. The world is good, my family great, my friends closer than a brother but I see now. All that I assumed I knew, well it wasn't all I thought it was. Each part of what I built upon has been taken a part and now I wait there. Looking around at this empty shell of a house, wondering if a home will take place here again. Please know, this is all internal. There have been no living altering outside changes, but rather a complete deconstruction inside.

As I wept in church Wednesday night, sobbing in the midst of my pastor's preaching, I heard I had not failed. That God did not see my four years of work as a failure. Then a new and dear friend sat next to me and prayed. She held me as I wept and said this year would be a year of healing. The look in her eyes, I knew it was God. The Spirit was there in her words, and I hoped.

But still as the plant was eaten this week, I laid on the ground and wished for death. I've locked myself away from everyone, shut out my heart and hoped to avoid emotional intimacy. Because the truth hurts, and I know you'd see it written on my face.

For who knows what is good for man while he lives the few days of his vain life, which he passes like a shadow? For who can tell man what will be after him under the sun? Ecclesiastes 6:12

Can you imagine being the disciples? Seeing their friend, their teacher, their Lord, the one who embodied all their hope and vision of the future - dead, dying on a cross meant for the vilest of men? Reading John 16, I can only imagine the grief Jesus held for his brothers - they had no idea. Not because he didn't tell them, but because they thought they heard Him but really only heard what He said through their preconceived notions of reality. They too had to have everything taken apart, in the most literal and painful way - all they had known was stripped away and they were left once again fishermen lost without a way to go.

But then in their waiting, in their doing, in their distress Jesus came. He was new, He was familiar, He was different, He embodied all that was meant to be but not what they had expected Him to be. For some the difference was too radical, they could walk and talk with Him but not recognize their Lord, for others they had to touch in order to believe, and still yet for others it was in the breaking of bread they knew it was their Lord and they could hope again.

I haven't seen Jesus rise yet. The deaths of what I thought, how I thought I knew things worked are still dead in the grave. It may be day one, two or the rising of the third day - all I know is that right here it feels dead and gone. But I have nothing else to do but continue to be, to rise and wait. Will I run out when a whisper of hope comes? Will I walk with my Lord and not even know Him? Will I reject the knowledge and testimony of those around me, having to wait till He appears to me and be humbled?

Oh God let me see You.
Precious Jesus, in the early morning,
as my grief seems overwhelming,
and the darkness so strong,
let me rise and run to You.
At the whisper of dawn,
at the call of life,
Let me have faith to come.
But if I don't dear Lord,
Don't give up on me,
Let me walk with You,
Talk with You,
Break bread,
touch You,
hear testimony of You,
however I can heard Lord, speak
and save this wretched one.
But let me not curse You and wish for death.
Sustain me Spirit in this barren land.
In the wasteland of death,
be the Breathe of Life to me.
Because hope is found in just breathing.
So Spirit breathe over me.
Until the building begins,
till this cement dries,
till the frame is seen,
sustain me.