About the Golden Perspective Series:
Today I'm introducing a new series to CiG, the Golden Perspective Series! These monthly posts will feature a different woman, specifically highlighting their unique fashion choices and written voices. I can't wait to share these amazing, everyday ladies with you! Each of them has an incredible perspective to share, just as each of you do.
About the Author:
We're kicking off the series with the incredible sk! She's one of the best photographers I've ever met (check out the stuff on her blog!) and has a passion for capturing people's stories. She also has a gift for making the mundane sound beautiful, so be prepared for a gorgeous read!
I used to be very afraid that God was going to rip things away from me, like he didn’t have sympathy, like he wasn’t close, but the last few months have been a soft & steady reminder of his gentle hands and his willingness to climb right into the dirt with me. I think the moment came when I was driving for 13 hours down south, all along the winds of the east coast. I was alone and completely numb after struggling with crippling anxiety for an entire year. I had been crying out to God, asking him to end the suffering, yet clinging to my anger and bitterness at the pain and loss in my life. I saw, in a moment as the Spirit spoke, the holes in the wrists of Jesus, and the simple spoken words:
“See how tenderly I have dealt with you?”
And that knowledge, deeply rooted in something I cannot understand on my own, the place closest to his heart, the space of the deepest intimacy, is the only place of goodness for me. All that anger, all that bitterness at him was only keeping me from the one thing that could heal me: drawing close to him. And though I did not feel him, my faithful Father was working gently all along. It is promised that in Jesus, in this life, that if we thirst and long for more of him, we will receive it and surely be satisfied forever. That he will defend us and provide for us when we take our eyes off the pain and lack and fix our eyes on his perfect, all encompassing love that walks with us even in the darkness.
Friends, there is a God who sits on the porch with you and strokes the back of your hair while a single firefly is doused in the thick June air. He is not afraid of your tears or your twilight. It is okay to sit and cry and not to be okay, to lay your head in your lap and let it hurt real bad, let it ache deep down in the canyons you never knew were dug so many years ago. It is okay to be lonely, because Jesus isn’t a band-aid God. He didn’t roll his eyes at Mary when Lazarus died, and coldly remind her that in a few minutes Lazarus would probably show up. He wept for the loss in the second it happened, he wept in presentness of pain and felt the pangs of compassion for the aching in the now.
I am learning something new and holy and good - the greatest answer to tomorrow’s crippling fear is a God in the today, a God who zipped himself up into human skin,
who looks at us with eyes of oceans deep, who has holes in his wrists too hollow and loving to comprehend, and who pulls our head into his chest without a word.
It is okay to grieve and to feel pain, he just asks us to do it with him. Let him guide us through it. Like a sure-footed, gripped hand ahead in the dead of night. Because ultimately every step we take with Him is drawing us deeper into his heart. My prayer is that God let me be like David, who “went in and sat before the Lord” like he was his oldest, closest friend. That he make me like Hezekiah, who wept and pressed his face to the wall, went into the presence of God until he was finally able to leave confidently proclaiming:
“Surely it was for my benefit
That I suffered such great anguish.”
If intimacy is the goal, if close to the Father’s heart is where I want to camp, then let even the pain, the loss, and the fear bring me to the empty tomb where I can lay my doubting fingers in the very holes pierced for me and see just how tenderly he has dealt with me.