Sanctification & Rivers of Tears

It has been five months. Five and a half, really.  We walked around and around a house, dreamed a bit, decided it was too quirky.  It hung in the space between us for four days.

‘What if we could make that weird house a home?’  I scribbled a text; pressed send before I could overthink it.

I’m still too tired to tell you about the mayhem that transpired last November.  December.  January. I tried to write down the gist of it for you just now, but I couldn’t get past the first hurdle.  So be it.  Sanctification is exhausting.

That’s what it all was, you know.  Us, kneeling before the Holy One, offering fragments of faith, pieces of doubt, and Him, making a house out of two broken hearts.  Maybe it was never about the place, after all.  Maybe the place was about the promises.  ‘I have this home for you, but it will be hard.’  The truest promise I’ve ever known, fully.

Yesterday, I sat square under a tree in a nest of last year’s pine straw and I wept.  I looked up at the budding branches against a cerulean sky and I truly wailed.  Toxins rolled down my cheeks and dropped into the earth. (The fragile earth seems better able to hold my tears than I.)  There was a river on one cheek that held the image of my dad pausing at the door of the airport for one last look at us driving away.  (I can’t stop crying about that, actually.)  There was a stream on the other cheek that held the fight my true love and I had over the wait time at a brunch joint.  There was a dam that broke forth over the unfairness that I can hold this fulfilled promise in one hand, and impatience over unfinished projects in the other.  Who do I think I am.. to get a new house, a new kitchen, a new bathroom, a new basement, and yet drop a daily, internal f word that it’s all not done yet.  In MY perfect timing.  Oh friends, how MUCH I have to grow.

But, I think, that when my Creator and Friend whispered aloud the element of hard that came along with a house, that maybe He didn’t mean a temporary hard.  Maybe He meant a long, grueling hard that brings me to my knees, not for three months, but maybe for a whole lifetime.  Because I didn’t just sign up for a home.  I also left my left-handed, scribbly signature on the line for sanctification.  I can do this hard thing.  And the next. and the next.  and the next.  and the next. But only with heaps of grace.

Friends, I want to learn to pray….with gusto.  Tell me how I can pray for you?  Please. I will offer you up, by Name, to the One Who holds our heartbeats in His palms.  Even if you don’t believe.  Even if you don’t want to.  I want to pray for you.

xo.

jo

P.S.

*have you ever noticed how the mosquitoes huddle overhead for several weeks before descending to feast upon us all?  why do they do that, I wonder?

*have you ever noticed how the birds are early to bed, early to rise?  oh, how I long to be like the birds. may it be so.

tree .JPG

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One Comment

  1. I loved this! You write so beautifully. You captured it perfectly- we are all birthing hard things in the season with a little people and so much change. I’m not sure if you remember our time together, but we met at the writing conference for proverbs 31 She Speaks in Charlotte a few years ago. For some reason, as I was reading your post today I thought I recalled that you live in Charlotte? Is that the case? If so, I will be out there for two weeks this summer visiting my in-laws and I would love to get together with you and have coffee and chat about writing. Blessings to you and your many house projects! Hope you’re well 🙂

    Natalie Maki

    Sent from my iPhone

    >

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