When I walk, I often listen to Pandora. If I hear a song I like, I'll pause and look at the title. This week I happened to look down and read on the phone screen, I Am Always Right. I thought to myself, "That's not the title I'd expect from such an evocative instrumental piece." Then I looked again and I'd missed a word. The title of the song was, I Am Always Right Here. I laughed to myself and thought, "Sometimes that kind of arrogant attitude is what I project toward God--He's always right and I better keep it together to stay on His good side." No mindset could be more toxic--that simple word "here" making all the difference. He is "I AM." Here and present. Always.
After my walk, I pondered what God might be saying to me, getting my attention through that mistaken song title, surely, a bit of His kind humor. I got out my journal and penned a letter that I think He could have written to me and slipped into the mail slot. Perhaps this missive may encourage you as well. More and more, I'm convinced that our perception of God is the most important mindset we will ever develop. He is good, and He withholds nothing good from us. When I unseal the envelope this is what I read:
Beloved,
Please know that I'm delighted with you--right where you are today. You have nothing to prove to me. You can lean back and relax in my presence. I am entirely engaged with your story and create a brilliant, individualized process to move you forward. I adore your process. Know that I am always aware of you and your affections, and I find great pleasure in making you aware of me.
You can expect my favor, my provision, my wisdom, my latitude, my peace in the midst of your celebrations, disappointments and longings. I am your strength, your grace. Your role is to stay by my side and receive all that I want to give you. Remember that I'm the giver and you're the receiver. I've planned it this way so that you can be the giver as well in the areas of influence in which I've placed you. I always over-supply for you so that giving becomes natural and joyful. Then you have the same pleasure that I do when you experience people receivng what I have to give them through you. See how it works? Allow yourself to marvel in my ways.
Be comforted by me. Often, I know, your heart becomes ragged and tattered living on this side. Live inside my superior kindness, my extravagant peace of mind that I desire for you to experience. The world is competitive, negative and overly complex. I know there are holes in your life that you try to fill with human solutions. Don't despair about the holes. Remember the colander metaphor I gave you months ago. The holes act as filtering agents--to keep the good, toxins rinsed, leaving you cleansed and refreshed. Remember that I frequently use the concept of "paradox."
I am your iconic perfume. When you spend time with me, my fragrance clings to you, and others are attracted to this glorious scent. Everywhere you go, you are a fragrance. Listen, too, for my sound. My voice contains the healing tones of rushing water and waves, living water that flows for eternity. You will know my voice, because I want you to hear me. Drink me in. This is your inheritance.
I give you multiple glimpses of my Kingdom so that you constantly reflect who I am on earth. You can be confident that I will never stop revealing myself to you. Lift your face to me, fearless. Open your arms and allow my light to permeate your life. You stand on a faultless platform--my love. You cannot be shaken, because I am your constancy. Whispers of my affection echo through your spirit, my divine breath in your ear, assuring you of my love--keeping you, assuaging life's pain. Feel my embrace, beloved. I am always right here.
Ripcord won best in show at the Beverly Hills Dog Championship last weekend, and I don't think it was because he was the most beautiful dog. Of course, he was in fine form, his coat shiny, no ounce of fat and surely a well-behaved Doberman. I think, honestly, what caused Ripcord to stand out from the others breeds was the way he gave full attention to his owner. There is a point in the dog's presentation when after he and the trainer have loped down the red carpet before the judge, that the handler brings the animal to a full stop. Each competitor must affix its eyes on the owner. The dog is rapt--tail up, feet planted firmly on the ground with no movement, ears at attention. The dog is not distracted by anything--he only has eyes for his trainer. And even with all the hoopla of his win, Ripcord's eyes rarely veered from his handler. There was one moment after the victory when Ripcord placed his long legs on the owner's shoulders and licked her face. He was allowed this affection as they'd pulled off a feat no other duo was able to perform as well-- they'd stayed in tune.
Lately, as I've faced unexpected pathways with health, a mentor asked me to consider this question: What does God want to be for you now that He has not been able to be for you at any other time in your life? This question intriqued me, so I began to inquire of God what the answer might be. After a few hours of waiting to hear, I sensed I heard the word longsuffering. "I knew it," I said to myself, "This whole sickness thing is about me getting better at being patient and enduring and suffering long-term so that I can reflect the attributes of God." I felt betrayed. This did not seem like something I wanted to sign up for, hadn't signed up for.
I almost fell for it--the enemy's illusion of God--He's out to punish. You've got to prove yourself. It's up to you--your effort. But I closed my eyes and cried out, "No this is not the God I know. He is not out to get me, to punish me. I've learned that He's waiting to be gracious to me, that He longs for my heart to be vulnerable to His love, to His comfort, to His healing, to His provision and mercy." I seized the truth that God desires to be longsuffering toward me during this time. He would have me come to Him and sit at His right hand so that He can minister to me and keep me safe. He says, "Let me shepherd you through this, receive my comfort and healing, focus fully on me, taking no thought for the morrow. I've got you. Rest. Enjoy my presence as longsuffering is my job. And the beauty is that as you allow me be longsuffering for you, you achieve this fruit of my spirit yourself."
Like Ripcord, my focus is on my trainer. I fix my eyes on Him. And at the end of the show we will embrace, as our affection is unbounded. And we will win.
I never expected to be where I am. In the heart of adversity. Seventeen is the number that symbolizes victory, but for me 2017 appears to reflect a double portion of defeat--the death of my sister, the loss of health. I have struggled spiritually to fit the pieces together. These jigsaw fragments do not link up in the natural. Thank God, there is a place in Him where the pieces fit together to create a beautiful picture--even though I've lost the top of the puzzle box that could help me visualize the scene that's being created. By faith, I continue to each day go to my card table, myriad puzzle pieces strewn about. "Yes, I found an edge piece." The perimeter is coming together, but I have no idea of the outcome. I'm convinced that the end result will be gorgeous, a landscape that mirrors the very heart of my desire. My instruction is to keep going back to the table each day and believe that I will be led to find pieces that fit. And even on days when I am not able to link any pieces together, that does not mean I have failed. I keep going back. Little by little, piece by piece--the process moves me forward to eventually see the beauty that God has created for my life.
Of course, this is merely a metaphor. (You know how I love metaphors). How does working a puzzle relate to moving through adversity? I don't have a formula. I'm experimenting, just as I would if I were sitting at a card table trying out pieces to finish a puzzle. You know how it is: you're convinced the piece surely fits, but no matter how hard you try to press the pieces into place, there is no connection. Then you walk away from the table exasperated. You come back, and try a piece that appears counterintuitive, and ironically you hear that "snap" of connection. And that small victory encourages you to keep trying.
What keeps me returning to the card table? I think my choice to sit at the table is less about effort and more about choosing stillness. One of the most frustrating aspects to managing current circumstances is when I experience physical pain. I've never really had to face the kind of pain I've had over these last weeks. It brings me to tears and thoughts like, "I should be getting better by now; I should be able to walk faster, be productive" surface. Yet I literally can't walk faster or be more physically productive in any way. My choices are to fight it and remain negative, or to move toward stillness, to lie down and meditate on the true nature of God. The choice to move toward stillness has not failed me yet. This choice is like sitting at the card table. Again and again, the physical inactivity allows the pain to subside, and the Words of the Lord bring comfort, assurance, confidence--even joy and thanksgiving (the greatest paradox) as I let His reassurances wash over me again and again and again. This is great victory, another piece found, the number seventeen perhaps living up to its meaning.
Some Scripture that has particularly encouraged me comes from Psalm 18. Indulge me as I write some of the beautiful words here--no doubt puzzle pieces that fit together to keep me moving forward...
The Lord is my rock.
The Lord is my fortress.
The Lord is my deliverer.
The Lord is my keen and firm strength in whom I take refuge.
The Lord is my shield.
The Lord is my high tower.
The Lord hears my voice out of His heavenly dwelling place.
My cry comes before Him, into His very ears.
The Lord reaches down from on high and takes me, drawing me out of many waters.
The Lord brings me forth into a large place. He delivers me because He is pleased with me. He is delighted with me.
And so we all are in process, no matter what circumstances we find ourselves. And we are moving toward an outcome. Yet, I believe, our loving Father holds our hands with such warmth and affection and says, "Don't be so concerned about outcomes. Trust me for that. You know it will be good, because I am good. I lead you through your process, each step so precious to me, because you are precious. 'Work' to be still. Come to the card table, knowing that I provide all you need to piece together the outcome I've created for you. Victory certain."
His actions when we are under pressure are the source of legends. He works everything out for our good. Our part is to abide in the beauty and power of His love and remain firmly on purpose.~Graham Cooke
A few months ago, I had an encounter with mud. I ventured out on the banks of the tidal creek near my house at lowtide. I was unaware of my vulnerability, as in an instant found myself sucked thigh-deep in the viscous soil. When I was pulled down, my phone fell from my hand, out of arm's reach. It was the middle of the day, not a soul around. I could hear the intermittent sounds of birds; I noted sun rays dappling the gray-green tidal waters. Seagulls flew overhead. A faint breeze ruffled my hair.
I panicked. No one knew I was there. I couldn't get to my phone. My neighbor's car was not in his driveway. I felt my legs sink deeper. "Think, Priscilla," I said under my breath. "God help me." I remembered that if a person found they were drowning, the first thing they needed to do was relax, as this would help them float and begin to breathe. I took a deep breath. I relaxed my body. I faced the tidal creek, but soon realized that if I leaned back, I could hook one elbow on a higher piece of ground. I hoped to leverage my weight with my arm strength to turn around and face the creek bank. I could then use my forearms to pull myself up and out of the mud. With slow, gradual movements, I maneuvered the turn. All the while I talked aloud to myself and prayed to God. "You can do this, Priscilla. You are strong." "God, in this hidden place, pull me up and out. Thank you that you are present with me." The company of the birds brought solace. After about twenty minutes of making slow, twisting movements with first one foot, then the other, I heard and felt the suction loosen. I placed all my weight on my elbows and began inching forward on the solid bank. Eventually, i was able to pull my mud-saturated legs out of the brown sludge. I lay face-down on the creek bank. Out.
Lately, I've reflected on this experience as I face health concerns. There are some metaphorical similarities. I was walking along, venturing out to seize and explore the territory of my life when I came upon the unexpected pluff mud of a life-threatening illness that took me down. But not all the way. I still have my wits about me, akin to still possessing my upper body strength when I was stuck in the mud. And I'm now employing many of the same coping tools to support me in breaking the suction of disease and anxiety. It is tempting to panic and sink further down into negativity and hopelessness. Yet these are not the thinking patterns that will prove helpful. God sees me in this hidden space, just as He did that hot afternoon at the tidal creek. He reminds me, "You have the mindset of a queen, the heart of a warrior, because you are my daughter. Just as you leaned on the creek bank, lean on me. Rest and peace are in me. I will pull you up and out." And just as the cries of the gulls and the regal presence of egrets comforted me as I inched my way out of the mud, so does the extravagant kindness and warm gestures of family and friends bring consolation now as I move forward.
And I know I am not the only person facing unexpected circumstances. You, dear reader, may face an unwelcomed situation of your own. I stand with you in support and say, "In Jesus, you have the heart of a warrior, the battle not your own, but His. His victory, your victory--His resplendent peace encircling you."
The first time I traveled to Italy, Giovanni took me to Verona. That June afternoon encapsulated all that Italy can be at its best--a mild blue day, pots of roses on window ledges, and the quiet murmur and melody of people speaking Italian. Our shadows cast romantic silhouettes as we walked hand in hand down cobblestone streets. We stopped at the site of Giulietta's balcony, the location where she and Romeo pledged their love to one another. We have a photograph of me standing by Giulietta's statue, the stone carved to depict the maiden holding up a silk gown just above her slender ankles. I'm grasping her waist, my hand touching the folds of her garment, my appearance incongruent with hers, wearing Chuck Taylors and skinny jeans, a red knapsack slung over my shoulder. Just behind me is a wall of notes and graffiti. Couples come each year to add their names to the wall of lovers. I wrote our names on a post-it note and placed our symbol of love on the wall.
Currently, I'm experiencing some health issues. I've hated this reality, honestly. I don't much like being the weak one--feeling so vulnerable. Needing help. I've been fascinated, though, and encouraged by the response from others. I suppose if anyone is going to give me something I relate to and love, it's words. I adore words, whether I'm writing them or reading them. The people who love me seem to know this. And they've posted their love notes on the wall of my life. Just as I'd never be able to count all the names on the wall in Verona, I wouldn't be able to count all the lovely words I've collected on my wall since I've been ill...
~Grilling some sausage for supper and a little wine too. Bacio. (kiss in Italian).
~I thought of you most of yesterday...much love to you. A peaceful night's rest.
~Remember He is your Shepherd. He is with you. Therefore you fear no evil.
~Peace is your reality today.
~We are praying that all goes well for you.
~I saw a picture of God holding you in His hands.
~I will come and take care of you. I want to.
~I pray that God, the source of hope, will fill you with joy and peace because you trust in Him. Then you will overflow with confident hope through the power of the Holy Spirit.
~May you ever feel His presence and His absolute delight in you.
~I'm praying Psalm 20 for you.
~Ti mando un grande bacio e un fortissimo abbraccio. (I send you a huge kiss and a big hug in Italian).
~I've been praying for your appointment today I read last night about Jesus healing at the pool of Bethesda and looked up the meaning of Bethesda. It means "an enclosure of mercy." I feel like that is for you.
~Remember that by His stripes you are healed.
~I saw you praying, a gentle, healing rain falling on you.
~I am praying and feel like the Lord said that you are like a precious little lamb tucked in the folds of His robes and all you need to do is let Him carry you down the path.
~We are all behind you in this process. (Colleagues).
~I had a prayer meeting at my house today, and we prayed for you. The place was charged. Everything will go well.
~Your heartbeat makes a pretty picture." (Lab technician reading my EKG).
In Verona, I remember the sound of the multitude of post-it notes fluttering in the breeze. And I hear the flurry of that sound now, all those post its collected on my life wall, full of love, and the prayers of God's people. A shelter.