Last week was hard for all kinds of reasons. As I sat in the middle of my own heart ache, in the midst of my fears and my brokenness I knew that I had to choose wisely whether to rise or fall. Half of me wanted desperately to drown in my sorrow, yet the still small voice that I have come to rely on whispered:choose life.
Throughout the week as I battled between justice and mercy, rights and wrongs, vindication and solace, anger and peace , and finally revenge or forgiveness I knew that I had to follow the path of life.
So, in the midst of the storm I turned from anger, bitterness and revenge and found something to hold on to: Jesus. He came in such quiet ways: A song, a verse, a word from a friend, a page from a book. His quiet footsteps in the midst of the storm were becoming louder and more visible than the crash of thunder or the height of the waves. He stood in the midst of it and brought suprising calm and peace.
Now, that which I thought I should fight to maintain, to hold on to and to constantly resuscitate is being quietly laid to rest and the life, the abundant and full life that was promised in its stead is being resurrected.
At the end of each day, and sometimes just at the end of each breath I whisper: To God be the glory; for where would I be if it had not been for His grace that kept me.
Embracing the promised life!
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 love will follow me all the days of my life and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.
Ps. 23
