5 minute Friday: on what is true.
Time to write for 5 minutes, and 5 minutes only, on this drizzly, gray day on the west coast.
On the word: TRUE
What is true, when it sure doesn’t look to be true?
Well, all the dreams in my heart. They are true and good and holy, and yet they aren’t happening, they aren’t smushed up to my face so hard, that I barely have time to say “life is good and I am blessed,” because life is too busy and it is good, but I’m taking it all for granted. This is how it was before the rains.
Right now, when it “appears” that my life isn’t good and I am “not” blessed because I’ve been thrown into the lion’s den, well now it the time that my soul rises up and speaks the truth. Because I have to. It’s all that I can say, in this moment.
I am blessed now more than I ever have been. I have clarity and truth and hope written on my heart, pushed so deep into the dirt, watered heavily by tears and dreams, that new life is forced to grow.
That is nature’s way. That is God’s way.
I have lost it all, so I have gained everything. I’m not afraid of death.
Am I in a place of joy, so unfounded that I feel…befuddled?
Am I waiting for the storm to come? Every scratch in my throat, every drip from my nose. Will it cause a panic to erupt inside of me, a clawing, bleeding fear that will drain the life from me?
Will it take her?
But the Life within me has a say, for He is anchored to heart more than ever before. The River of Life, the truth, the wild and free.
I’m running a race, I’m running it hard and slow. I’m waiting for a miracle, I’m waiting to see the sun rise and blast blazing grapefruit and melon skies across this gray. I’m waiting for the day when I will see my babies squirm hard and kick and scream blue murder. I’m waiting to see my children crawl and yank off my earrings, I’m waiting for bruises from coffee tables, not IV’s.
As much as I’m living in the present, enjoying the sweetness of her, relishing in the glory of life…I’m also living with a great expectation for life to come, I’m waiting on the edge of the hill, watching for the glimpse of morning rays.
This is what brings me to my knees. This ache. This yearning.
Perhaps this is my way of coping, on a human level. But I also think it’s because it’s in my DNA. The scratches on my soul, are etched so deep, and they are telling me that I’m a mama, and I will be a mama, and I will see my children run like the wild, wind. And I will see my children walk down the aisle marrying their beloveds. I am a mother, and I will bear life, not death. I will push for that breakthrough, and I will cling to that hope, even when the rope is burning my palms, and my heart feels seared with unbelief.
“At once the father of the (sick) boy gave [an eager, piercing, inarticulate] cry with tears, and he said, Lord, I believe! [Constantly] help my weakness of faith!”