The thirsty ground would receive water,
The wind would clean the air,
The old would pass and the new would come.
I returned home for the summer without much of an agenda, but knowing my God definitely has one. He promised that He would give me Himself, and that He was all I needed. Sounds like a beautiful storm, if you ask me! Every day so far I have eagerly anticipated the restorative work He has promised to do.
So has the rain come? Has the wind come to usher out the old and bring in the new?
Not just yet.
Why not? I was asking that question until today.
Last summer, I learned a lot about myself, including that I have tendencies to strive for perfection, to strive for "progress." Long-term trusting with few results wears down my resolve to trust, and I lapse into striving. My wound-up-tight heart condemns my lack of progress and grows more and more convinced that God is waiting on me to get my act together before He comes in and does His restorative work.
God surprised me today. I sat down to spend time with Him, and five minutes in, I could once again sense that nothing was going to happen. I felt sort of disgusted until God spoke to my heart.
Will you let Me?
Will you let Me heal you?
Will you let Me pursue your heart?
Will you let Me restore you and bring abundance?
I want to do this for you.
Will you let Me?
My impulse was to hurriedly say, "Yes, of course, God -- I've been waiting for You to do it!"
Will you let Me?
"God, of course -- yes. Haven't I been waiting for --"
Will you LET Me?
It took a minute or two, but it finally dawned on me. The storm has been hovering over my head the whole time. The wind has been brushing against me like a lovely invitation. But I haven't given the rain permission to fall. I've been too busy holding a leaky gardening hose over the soil of my heart, trying to "help God along" and "get my act together" so it can finally rain for real.
The rain has been right above my head the whole time, but I was too busy striving . . . striving . . . .
I looked down at the page. Psalm 46:10, "Cease striving and know that I am God; I will be exalted among the nations; I will be exalted in the earth."
The whisper again,
I want to do this for you.
Cease striving . . . and let Me.
God never operates through guilt, manipulation, or stress. He never demands that a heart "get its act together" before He moves. All He requires is a heart that yields to His touch and that chooses to rest in grace, not trying to "accomplish" anything or trying to "clean itself up" before presenting itself to Him. Not trying to "help Him along" so that the healing can come faster.
Grace speaks soothingly to the red-faced, crying child and whispers, It's okay.
Grace whispers, I know.
It mattered.
It matters.
You're safe now.
When grace calms that angst-ridden, weeping child (look into the face of that child . . . doesn't he or she look rather familiar? Could it be you?), that child can look up through bleary eyes and see Love.
Grace allows you to admit that you've taken some hits on the battlefield. Grace gives you the ability to simply lie on the stretcher and let the Physician restore what's been damaged. Grace gives you the freedom to cry, to breathe, to rest, to laugh, to love, to dance, to be. And somewhere along the way, as you danced with Jesus and soaked up the lavish love He rained upon you, you realize the healing came when you weren't even aware.
For the heart that strives: Grace.
For the heart that grieves: Grace.
For the heart that rushes ahead in excitement and stumbles: Grace.
For the heart that wanders and doubts: Grace.
For my heart; for your heart.
Breathe in, breathe out: Grace.
(P.S. Outside my window, it's raining now.)
