in the silence

On a nametag that had been taped on my desk were the letters J-U-L-I-A. My desk was just behind Tara’s and next to me was J.P. I was a little girl of six years with more stories to tell than time would allow. I always had an answer or a question or a comment. So, when Miss Rood would look out at her class, often my tiny hand was waving about. When I didn’t get the attention I desired, I would try to sit up higher in my chair and sometimes little noises would slip out like, “uh, uh.” As if these utterances would help her to see my six year old figure that was frantically signaling to her that I wanted her attention. Lest you think that my teacher lived up to her name, she was kind and gave attention when appropriate. But often would teach in the silence.

As of late there are times when I feel like that six year old is trapped inside of me. I look at God and flail my hand trying to catch His gaze. “Uh, uh” are the syllables that are thrust from my mouth in a desperate attempt to get His attention. My heart feels as though He cannot see His child or as if He may have forgotten I am sitting here. But I am finding that He, too, is teaching in the silence.

mom's wisdom

Since my mother was diagnosed with cancer, our phone calls have become much more frequent. Since she has retired, often we email two or three times a day. With this increased communication, I have found that her pearls of wisdom often land in my lap. Today I was telling her about my day. Her comment follows:

“Sounds like you are busy. You are the only one who has control over that you know. As long as it is fun stuff, being busy is not all bad.”

I don’t know if I necessarily agree that being busy isn’t all bad…ok, so maybe it isn’t all bad, but often I feel like the Lord is telling me to slow down. Yesterday as I was driving to work, I felt the Lord nudge me and say, “Slow down. Look around. See all of these things? I want you to write about them.” When my life goes at warp speed, I don’t have time to drink in the world around me. And, when I’m not drinking it in, I’m certainly not writing.

It’s funny to me that when I was younger I would get so annoyed when my parents would “spout their wisdom.” Now, I treasure their insight so much, I blog about it. How life changes.

sitting in silence

A delicate red rose adorned the communion table. Its presence was to announce the birth of a little girl. It was a painful declaration of a tiny babe who lived a few short hours before she slipped away into the arms of Jesus.

A familiar voice asked me to call her back. I was checking my voicemail late at night, but knew from her tone she needed me. I quickly entered her speed dial number and then listened to the crushed voice on the other end of the line. She painfully shared her story of heartache and loss: the agony of loving while the other walks away.

Excited to have an email from my dear friend, I quickly opened it. As I began to read, I knew my heart was about to be broken. As she recounted the events of the last weeks, tears came to my eyes. Medical procedures revealed the abnormalities. Anguish crept its way into her life.

In my Sunday school class we are studying Job. Following class this week I was having a discussion with some friends of mine. We agreed that the implications of some of this morning’s comments were that with the resurrection hope that we have, we should rejoice always. I don’t. One of the hymns this morning implied that my life will be all sunshine when I believe in Jesus. It’s not. People have told me if I just try a little harder that I will be happy all the time. I won’t.

Sometimes I am overwhelmed by the grief that trickles into the lives of those I love. On this day I am very aware of the state of the world we live in. Nothing is as it should be. Creation has lost its luster and the effects of the fall have slithered their way into every corner. Eagerly we await the day when all things will be made new. The day when there will be no more crying, no more sorrow. The day when our Lord will tenderly wipe away every tear from our eyes, and we will be made perfect.

If you are hurting today, I will gladly sit in silence with you.

i'll sit with you

A delicate red rose adorned the communion table. Its presence was to announce the birth of a little girl. It was a painful declaration of a tiny babe who lived a few short hours before she slipped away into the arms of Jesus.

A familiar voice asked me to call her back. I was checking my voicemail late at night, but knew from her tone she needed me. I quickly entered her speed dial number and then listened to the crushed voice on the other end of the line. She painfully shared her story of heartache and loss: the agony of loving while the other walks away.

Excited to have an email from my dear friend, I quickly opened it. As I began to read, I knew my heart was about to be broken. As she recounted the events of the last weeks, tears came to my eyes. Medical procedures revealed the abnormalities. Anguish crept its way into her life.

In my Sunday school class we are studying Job. Following class this week I was having a discussion with some friends of mine. We agreed that the implications of some of this morning’s comments were that with the resurrection hope that we have, we should rejoice always. I don’t. One of the hymns this morning implied that my life will be all sunshine when I believe in Jesus. It’s not. People have told me if I just try a little harder that I will be happy all the time. I won’t.

Sometimes I am overwhelmed by the grief that trickles into the lives of those I love. On this day I am very aware of the state of the world we live in. Nothing is as it should be. Creation has lost its luster and the effects of the fall have slithered their way into every corner. Eagerly we await the day when all things will be made new. The day when there will be no more crying, no more sorrow. The day when our Lord will tenderly wipe away every tear from our eyes, and we will be made perfect.

If you are hurting today, I will gladly sit in silence with you.