I’m writhing a bit tonight under the weight of conviction and duty and the necessity of obedience in a particular situation, not knowing what may result. I was reading through my feed reader this evening, since my disquietened mind had exhausted itself for the time being in calling out to and yelling at God by turns. And He replied, but in the words of an author over at one of my favorite blogs. Her article is excerpted here:
“Yet often we imply that the Jesus we worship would never allow us a season of uncertainty, or vulnerability, or war. We think he wants us to be fat, full of ourselves, and sure. We know belief tumbling in summergreen strength through valleys and heights, simple and monotone, making promises of happily ever earthly after.
It is a breed of faith easy enough to manage among wealthy people expecting pleasant things. That is why the anomalies are so horrifying: sicknesses, disasters, misunderstandings, prisons of all sorts, Novembers in June. The story shouldn’t go this way, we think. Dyings are such a shock, for the Jesus we have loved is pleasant and easy, and we shop for him until we find him sold our way.
A thousand times I have read the words, but who ever believes them without October skies grown low and grey? You have died. The old has gone. The new has come. The old shell must be sucked of its green juices and tumble down, resigned to the contrast. For there is another world, and it is often winter here when spring there rises.
The veins of fallen leaves read like hymns, yellow-running, red, and holy. They are prophets of a new dimension.
My life is gone.
Behold what is left: