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How long, O LORD? will you forget me for ever? how long
will you hide your face from me? How long shall I have perplexity in my mind,
and grief in my heart, day after day? how long shall my enemy triumph over
me? Look upon me and answer me, O LORD my God; give light to my eyes, lest I
sleep in death; Lest my enemy say, “I have prevailed over him,” and my foes
rejoice that I have fallen. But I put my trust in Your mercy; my heart is
joyful because of Your saving help. I will sing to the LORD, for He has dealt
with me richly; I will praise the Name of the Lord Most High. Psalm 13
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Look upon me and answer me, O LORD my
God; give light to my eyes.
That
I might see.
That
I might see. The Joy Dare for today is dusky
light, surprising reflection, lovely shadow.
But
really, things are pretty dark in my little world. The
four-thirty-in-the-morning-living-room is pitch black except for my glowing computer
screen with This morning’s office to be
observed. Yesterday I tried all day
long to squint funny. Picture myself kneeling down. Repeat after me, my Strength and my Redeemer. Again and
again. And I get it, in my head, that I am not wrestling against flesh and
blood but against
principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this
world.
But really it looks like big mucky glops of mud on my
windshield. Those squirmy cursing angry flesh and bloods all day long.
The darkness of this world.
Give me light.
Yesterday in chapel once again we sang, “This little light of
mine. I’m gonna let it shine. Don’t let Satan puff it out, I’m gonna let it
shine.”
But still, as we stood together in a crowded hallway at the
end of the day with all of the honor roll students and said what we were
thankful for before we gave everyone back their cell phones and let them go
home or to the library or to the tutoring Centre next door where a fresh batch
of momma cookies in ziplock bags was waiting, I wept tears of hopelessness. And
last night, that’s how I went to sleep.
And on Tuesday night, when Pastor Chris asked me what was the
point of the past year and a half, what was my take away, I could only shake my
head sadly, and repeat again and again, I
don’t know.
On Wednesday at the Tucson Museum of Art class, I painted a
small canvas with a bright pink and purple and blue and green “Embrace” dancing
across the center and sprinkled it with rock salt and blew bubbles of rubbing
alcohol across it.
What does it look like to stop trying, and let Him? To let go
and bury myself in His arms?
Every single day I try to step down from the throne of my
heart. Bend my knee. Rest. Die like a seed.
Try. Try. Try.
IdolaTRY. Really?
What does it look like to stop trying, and let Him? To let go
and bury myself in His arms?
And once again the Psalmist answers the question: I
will sing to the LORD; I will praise His name.
And as He entered a village, He was met by ten
lepers, who
stood at a distance and lifted up
their voices, saying, “Jesus, Master, have mercy on us.”
Jesus, Master, have mercy on
me.
And my Friday prayer for myself is and has been for
oh-so-long: I pray that I will be a
light to the nations as He declares new things.
I’m gonna let it shine.
And when I step out of my dark little living room to head
for Hillenbrand Pool, I am going to look for dusky light,
surprising reflection, lovely shadow.
To
notice.
You
only have shadows when there is light.
And
really all of the light looked dusky this morning as I drove home. There was
not even a glimmer of sunrise on the eastern horizon.
And
the biggest surprising reflection came from the pool of water that fills the
new pothole at the corner of Broadway and Stratford boulevards that has eaten away
more than half of the right lane.
And
all of the shadows this morning were lovely, red and white and green lights
splashes across my foggy rearview mirror.
I will sing to the LORD; I will
praise His name.
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