Waterfalls have been crossing my mind off and on over the last several days. There are no substantial ones close enough to town for me to spend the afternoon watching, so I'm going back in my memory a few weeks- to our visit to the falls in Yellowstone.
Today I re-read my Steadfast Pursuit blog. I needed to be reminded that along with this powerful shaping will come the smoothing. I imagined that the fallen cottonwood tree fell in up-river near the falls in Yellowstone. (Although it's highly unlikely that a whole cottonwood tree would have washed all the way to Billings without getting caught on a sand bar or bridge, just go with me on this...) I was feeling pretty good, floating along on the river, when last week, during Blessings Week none-the-less, I whoooooooshed over the waterfall. The pressure of the water forced me under at the base of the cliff and held me down there for a bit. I spent the next several days struggling to make sense of it, gasping for breath, trying to right myself. Not sure if I was seeing river bottom or sky. In some ways I was completely taken off guard by the thoughts I was being confronted with. Some of these I had put aside years ago...
If you've been following any of this thread, you know that I am working through a set of challenges with a few friends. This week's challenge is: "Read/recite Psalm 23 twice a day, memorize it if possible- until it feels like breathing to you, think of these words throughout each day."
Okay, I'm not going to soften this for you, because my internal response was a little... uh, raw. My reaction was anger with complete irritation. I was not just a mildly ticked. If there is one thing that has felt like pouring acid on a burn patient over the last year or two (more really, but who's really keeping track?) it's the churchy, chritianese, cliche garbage people say when they have never lived through anything more inconvenient than not having a Starbucks close to their office. Why, when I've had so much progress and hope, would I be thrown a bumper sticker phrase to marinate on? Where's the deep stuff of Job or some crazy obscure place in Zephaniah? Okay, so now that I've offended half of you, here's what's happened this week, so far:
I'm a rule follower, so I had my fit, then followed the rules. In case you're not familiar with the chapter here it is:
"A Psalm of David. The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He makes me lie down in green pastures. He leads me beside still waters. He restores my soul. He leads me in paths of righteousness for His name's sake. Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff , they comfort me. You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies; you anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all of my days and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord forever."
On Day 1 of this week I wrote in my journal before I did the reading/reciting thing. Yeah, I've tried, there's really no way for me to clean my thoughts up in order to make them public. It's not that they're evil or awful really, just really intense. I feel a real sense of responsibility to respect, even in some ways, protect, the people I have been hurt by. There will just be some experiences, both recent and ancient history, that I will not be specific about on here for that reason alone.
That night I finally got around to reading the verses, mentally checked the box for the day, turned out the light and closed my eyes. "Restores My Soul", kept drifting through my mind quietly. Then with more persistence. What? How? It's crushed, tattered, no- fed through a commercial sized meat grinder. Hmmmm? What's that? Now I have to turn the light on and look it up to get it right: "...but we have this treasure in jars of clay, to show that the surpassing power belongs to God and not to us. We are afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not driven to despair; persecuted, but not abandoned, struck down, but not destroyed..." By now, if you knew me then, you'd know that I'm pretty musically bent and that both Psalm 23 and 2 Corinthians 4:7-9 have several songs based on them. So as you can imagine, the light stayed on. The songs pouring through my head. Words flying from my pen into my journal. Tears. Raw, gut wrenching, hurt. It felt good to get it all out, so after awhile, I lay back down. Light out. Eyes closed...
"He leads me beside still waters and makes me lie down in green pastures" is the echo I hear now. Okay. My eyes open now. So why is my mind not still? Why am I not resting on green pastures? I told you last week that my mental gymnast pulled a muscle. This wrestling with stuff is not producing anything. HOW do I do this? "Be still and know that I am God." Now the light comes on again. I pull out my journal again. This time, less upset, more intentional. I will write down the secret fears and desires and griefs-some that I have been unwilling to openly admit to anyone. Six pages later, light out. Eyes closed. Sleep on its way...
Or not. Yesterday's sermon title pops into my mind. "The Impossible Is What God Does Best". Really? Somehow the six pages I just wrote seem beyond impossible, but I am now completely exhausted. I sleep.
Tuesday I woke up to numbness. Not restless, wrestling, racing thoughts, hurt, fear, hope. Nothing. Just numb. The word "restoration" floats and flickers throughout my morning, I push it away. I don't even care. I checked the box of reading/reciting. I tried to be productive around the house. I'm completely ineffective. The hats I've been wearing all of these years and months are starting to fall off. I'm not even sure I like hats. I certainly wouldn't have chosen some of them. I wouldn't have even been caught dead shopping in the aisle of a few of them. I have no choice, so I will wear hats, and do it as well as I can for as long as I need to. I am numb.
Tuesday wears on. Numbness starts to turn into pain. I drift in and out of pain, tears are strangely falling- disconnected from emotion. I literally feel like I'm waking up from surgery. When I had my hysterectomy, my wake up from surgery was like this. I would start to gain consciousness and tears would flow, uninhibited. My sweet nurse, a big Southern lady named Debbie, told me to go back to sleep. Every I time woke up crying she would assure me I was okay and tell me to go back to sleep. Eventually, I woke up completely. No tears.
As I am re-reading my stuff since Monday I cannot believe it's only Wednesday. This morning I woke up completely. No tears. I'm not numb. I actually laughed, a lot, today. This idea of Him restoring my soul is not so inconceivable. As far as I can tell nothing on my six pages of fears, desires and griefs has been addressed specifically and the delicate little flowers I kicked and picked are still lying around the ground of my heart, but today I can be still and know He is God.
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