The End of My Rope

It's been weeks since I've felt caught up on sleep.

Nearly a month since I've written in my journal.

More than a month since I've really read a book.

Days since I've had a good hour to dig into the Word.

~~~~~~~

It's been a while since I've felt in control.

On top of my happening life.

Ahead enough to plan for new things.

~~~~~~~

Most days I feel like I barely keep my head above water.

Like it's a struggle just to stay current with day-to-day events.

Then taxes loom in front of me.

And expenses descend upon me.

And my room's a mess.

And there are emails unwritten.

And phone calls unmade.

~~~~~~~

My spirit begins to cry out in thirst for true Water.

And my soul begins to shrivel in the cold.

And my temper's suddenly short and brittle.

And in desperation, I finally throw myself at Your feet.

~~~~~~~

Ignoring the thousands of chiming voices -

The hundreds of chores and to-dos yet undone.

The clamor grows louder, but I know, yes, I know.

First things not put first only grow desperate cries.

~~~~~~~

I'm at the end of my rope.

With naught but a frayed strip 'twixt my fingers.

And I can't afford to listen to the canyon, deep below.

So in pain, hands bleeding, muscles quivering, I focus -

Focus, on the rope, held taut, far above me.

And the deafening cries subside.

And I'm drawn up by You.

And I realize that, here, I always should dwell:

At the end of my rope.

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Watch-It Wednesday: If I Stand

Have you noticed that "Watch-It Wednesdays" are more frequently "Listen-To-This Wednesdays"? I considered re-titling them "Wordless Wednesdays," but then I'd feel compelled to not write anything and, well - we all know how much I like to talk, right?

This is an old song. An old song raw with a time-transcendent longing for heaven. An old song fresh with the realization of who we are before Christ. An old song marveling at the mystery of beauty around us, refusing to be enraptured even by the "good," in the precious hope of the perfect.

If you stand, stand on the promise. If you fall, fall on the grace. If you sing, sing for the Lord's joy. If you weep, weep with longing.

Have a blessed Wednesday!

The Joy-Thief

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She is beautiful. Clothed with impeccable taste and fashion, the deep purples and scarlets of her gown simply add to the allure of her tall, slim figure and flowing, dark hair. Tenderly, delicately, she glides amidst the assembly, turning the heads of all by whom she passes. Pearls adorn her neck; diamonds, her wrists. Gems dance through her tresses, and gold sparkles on her fingers. All press near to her, desiring nothing more than to be in her presence. But their infatuation with the Lady of Kingdoms is not held by her person or adornment alone – oh no! – there is yet another fascination which holds them spellbound: in her graceful, dainty hand, there shines a golden chalice.

Eyes flicker from face to the goblet, hungry with expectation. Finally, with a light, musical laugh, the lady turns towards the crowd and, lifting high her gleaming glass, speaks:

“My kings! My princes! Dear nobles and ladies! I have brought here for you tonight my happiness, my life. This I willingly share with you. Taste my power! You will find within all that you desire. Beauty and knowledge, riches and youth – all can and shall be yours this day. Do you see me here before you? Is there any here my equal? Does anyone pretend to know more than I? I am she who holds the secrets, who grants to you the knowledge of what your life was meant to be. Taste my cup!”

Both those who have already savored, and those who wish to learn the taste – the crowd swells forward with one accord toward the polished, sparkling glass held forth. As it passes from one guest to the next, a sort of craze comes upon the sippers. Their eyes are only for the cup; no desperate, grasping brain spares even a thought for its dazzling, magnanimous hostess. The one consideration is for another drop. More. Just one more sip is all that is needed. Just one more. The lady knows she is forgotten, and so her evening masquerade has ceased. Gone now is her kind and gentle smile, her loving, sympathetic eyes. A cruel hatred in her demeanor pierces those around her, and contemptuous, sardonic sneers fall upon one and all as she looks down from her throne.

All night the guests continue in their mindless gluttony. More. More. More. Is the endless chant.

Gladly, the Lady of Kingdoms refills their glasses.

More. More. More.

 Overwhelmed in their thirst for further fulfillment, the kings and noblemen, ladies and princes, do not realize the changes that have come upon them. They have grown taller, their robes have changed to colors of greater and more brilliant hues, the reflection of diamonds flash in every direction, and yet, their faces grow more distressed, more frantic with every sip.

More. More. More.

The lady promised them this cup held their desires. Surely, one more taste would quench the thirst, would end the suffering, would fill the hole they feel more keenly with every disappointed hope.

More. More. More.

At last, in desperate exhaustion, one by one, they fall. In delighted scorn, only one remains. The Lady of Kingdoms stands tall and vengeful in the center of a dead room. A slight murmur attracts her attention and her cold eyes narrow in deepest hatred when they light upon the One. Gently, He approaches the death-like forms. Silently, He pulls from His satchel a different glass: clear, cool, and translucent. Tenderly, He offers the drink of Light to those who have despaired in the darkness, and, lovingly, He lifts them to their feet. Once again, the lady’s guests have changed. The diamonds disappear and the robes fade, yet on the faces of those who felt His breath, the truest beauty dawns. A beauty so deep, so brilliant, and so complete, no one questions what it is.

Joy. At last.

Never again will they believe that the lady’s cup holds their answers. They have finally received what it was they sought.

“Oh, taste and see that the LORD is good; Blessed is the man who trusts in Him!”*

What steals your joy? Learn to flee its glittering gold, and to rather drink deeply from the clear waters of the Word. The thief and her cup will ever fail to satisfy.

* Psalm 34:8, emphasis mine

Remembering

Don't ever forget, but know this: remembrance is worth nothing if it leaves no change in your life. My heart weeps for all the pain from the dreadful day, but especially for the hundreds and hundreds who died not knowing my Savior. Life really is a vapor. Don't spend yours afraid or hesitant to declare the only hope this world knows to a hopeless generation.

Pray for those who remember this day not because they watched it on tv, but because they are now fatherless, motherless, childless. Pray that they may know true peace and hope, through Him who gives it freely.

Remember.