See, I walked around a long time before I’d heard. Alone and groping. Never really hoping. Though sometimes laughing and always pretending while searching. Searching, for. the. love! Coming up empty mostly, without ever really knowing.
And if I’m honest, often I feel this struggle still. This day even. Knowing the Love that never disappoints and never lets go even. I always just wish I could grasp *it* more. More tightly. More completely than I do. With all I have. No regrets, emptiness, or discontent. No mistakes or wandering away or overthinking.
I’ve always done that, though. Over thought and wondered about so much in life and living. Regretting and rehearsing and wishing I was different. Better. More of something better; less of something else. Less like myself.
Happier. Alive. Prone to a more positive, daring side. Given over totally to love and tenderness and hope. Filled with the benefit of the doubt and grace to spare, instead of doubts and grudges and despair. More thought of loving others. Less of hating me.
It’s a tangled web I weave, though. Daily. Battling thoughts I don’t want. Fighting wars I keep losing. Dreaming of something I can’t see, but know it just has got to be.
That’s me, though. Unfortunately. And nothing I do seems to change her.
Yet, I keep trying to stay immersed in Love. Love’s promises. Love’s cover. Love’s oceans of grace and mercy. While wholly way too little of any of this seems to spill out in my life. Leaning deeper into Love’s Words, only to leave room for more doubt. Taking captive my thoughts, yet still submitting to my own self, leaving Love out.
So, I pray more. Try to be at rest. Believe I am trusting. Desire not to judge and grieve; try to abandon my need to control to the Only One Who has all control. Then pray harder and press in deeper and proclaim to know Love, though feel I’ve yet to really, truly take hold.
Forty-seven years and I still feel about fourteen. Claiming I see and hear and grasp, though keep blindly letting go. Walking on in the way I see is right. Walking away. Wishing I might, one day, truly take hold and walk right… right into the arms of Love, still held out for mankind.
And I remember, back in the day, never giving Love a second glance. Never claiming to see or believe.
Certainly never knowing.
Because I didn’t. I was blind and it was a dark path I’d wish for no one. And yet, I still choose even now to walk that same path. Even after knowing.
Because, well sometimes Love simply stands by, oddly still and silent. Waiting while we wander, wonder, flail and flounder. Waiting on us. Waiting for whatever. Waiting on us to finally learn it’s only Him we truly need, however. Waiting on us to glance back and see He’s in no hurry. Waiting on us to realize we’re the ones getting caught up in time. Waiting on us to get over ourselves. Waiting on what He’s creating us to be because, well… only Love knows why.
While waiting though, I’d still love the lame to finally walk free. The blind to clearly see. All of us bound by chains to be set free. I’d love if the light could shine. Mountains would move. Wisdom to know the words that need speaking and how to touch a hurting heart. Peace in the moment, present and afar.
Stillness and patience in the waiting for whatever may befall or fall completely apart.
I’d love to find faith to move forward and ease in trusting more of Love’s timing. But, most of all, I’d love to never, ever again question motive or outcome or His guiding. I’d love nothing more than this for myself and all who need and know Love.
It’s a journey though. This path of Love. Not a destination. Sometimes, sadly, it seems. And yet, at its core, there is a promise to hold: a firm, still, and steady, forever standing promise that Love’s Own Work delivers goodness to Love’s very own creation. Maybe not in our way (okay, that’s rarely ever how it happens) but in His perfect timing and His faithful way.
Always. And in all ways.
And so, it’s not really too much to hold onto this, is it? It shouldn’t be, since we’re actually holding on to the Only One Who carried the weight of the world on His shoulders and hung on that tree. Surely He can bear me. Even still. Even in the doubting and discontent. Bear the longing and lack and load I still carry even after knowing Him.
Certainly He knows and holds it all – still – in the palms of His scarred hands.
And who knows, one day I may take hold of all of Him. One day soon, maybe. One day at a time, I hear. One day after the next day of choosing to follow the way of Love, and not the way of fear.