This post is part of a synchroblog at Provoketive Magazine.
Please share your thoughts—or blog post—on hope in the comments below or on the Provoketive site. Don't forget to read the other blog posts on hope, too:
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| Gustav Klimt, "The Tree of Life" |
“Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but a desire fulfilled is a tree of life.”
-Proverbs 13:12
Sometimes at night, after my husband is heavy with sleep,
and the girls in their cribs are turned just so—Ariel on her side; Eva on her
belly—I sit alone on the couch, in the dark, and wait for the waking presence
of my God.
He is the revelatory God, the One who speaks to me holy
secrets, who ushers me forward into territory I’ve dreamed about but have never
entered.
He says it’s time.
Sometimes in the dark, while I’m on the couch, I tell Him
the power is too much; His presence is overwhelming.
He reminds me of where I had been—mangled, lonely, beaten
down, cast aside. He tells me I am no longer in the hands of men, but engraved
upon the palm of the God who breathed forth the universe with a sigh of relief.
In Him all things move and breathe and have their being.
Still I tremble. I tell Him if I let it all go to
Him—everything I’ve lost; all that I’ve found—I may not be prepared for the
hurt.
While in a circle of women who lay hands on me and pray, who
prophesy words from my God in the dark, they remind me that when I gave
everything over to Him in 2010, the week before I learned my marriage may be
over, it was God’s fullness in me that remained. Without it, I would have
experienced the same circumstances, empty.
God asks us to give Him everything so when we have nothing
left, we are still full.
Now, in the dark, on nights when everyone but me is heavy
with sleep, God appears and asks me to come with Him.
I tell Him I’m afraid of my dreams coming true. I run
through the dark into my bedroom and wrap my arms around my husband, the one
whom God restored and returned. My husband opens his eyes and smiles. He kisses
me as he journeys back into sleep, and I am left in the dark again, waiting with
my God.
My circle of women reassure with bold gestures and wide
smiles that God is waiting to fulfill something in me; He is not here to hurt
me.
My wounds would have happened anyway, they say, but with
God, they were overcome.
My fists no longer force closed before the throne of the
living God.
Late last night, with morning close on the horizon, I lay
awake next to my husband who was heavy with sleep. I sat up with arms extended
to a Heaven that no longer shrinks me.
Here I am, Lord. Send
me.
Instead of the earthquake, the tearing of a veil that has
already been removed, the peace of God rested upon me. It was heavy with
meaning, with purpose that will come as I keep my hands lifted, as I walk
beside my husband, as I carry my daughters, as I prophesy over circles of
women.
There in the dark, in the quiet heavy of night, hope
slumbered no more.
Please share your thoughts—or blog post—on hope in the comments below or on the Provoketive site. Don't forget to read the other blog posts on hope, too:
4 comments:
Oh, Renee! It was beautiful. I love how God is continually confirming His hope in you. <3
Thank you, Serena. I pray the same hope upon you.
This is beautiful. I don't think I have ever given up control of everything in my life. It's terrifying. Thank you for sharing.
It's freeing, Stephanie. I highly recommend it once you shut off the chatter and remove the clutter.
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