High above my head, while running some errands in my local town, I notice an eagle cruise right over me. It's nothing uncommon for me to see these majestic birds that signify national strength resting in a tree all over this place. Perhaps it's why the original settlers of this area named this town and the nearby river that flows through it, Eagle River. They are everywhere, and it's not lost on me that so many people travel to my state to catch a glimpse of these incredible creatures and I get the chance to see them pretty much all the time. I'm constantly reminding myself that living here, I get to experience other's dream. And isn't that kind of the way life is anyway? We're often living through moments that someone else in the world is praying for and, to us, we think nothing of it.
Break us, God, of our inattentiveness to the gifts already in our hands!
I can't help but shake my head at the irony as I watch that eagle gracefully spread its wings and fly by as I stand watching it in the parking lot of my bank. My mind runs to my journal back home and the verse embossed on the front cover. It's a passage I know well, and I picked that new journal for a reason. The scripture has reminded me so many times of the upholding strength of God in my worst moments and its promise has grounded me on more than one occasion: "They will soar on wings like eagles" (Isaiah 40:31). Yet, half of that journal is filled with a story I can't yet make peace with. Something that felt more like falling than gaining altitude.
For the first half of that journal and what I wrote in there, it certainly felt like I was on cloud nine. Life was going well... or so it appeared. Throughout the late Spring and Summer, all the pieces of my story seemed to be aligned. It felt so happy. So right. My book was coming out, dreams were coming true, I was meeting new people and growing in my prayer life. A special connection was forming that felt like it had been dropped right out of Heaven into my lap. Things couldn't have been going better. Then, it all changed almost overnight. Travel plans were canceled, two friends died (one suddenly), so many dear ones were sick, hospitalized, or walking through horrible suffering, and the recent relationship I'd been investing in turned into a shocking betrayal.
Like I've done for years, I wrote it all down. Documented. Kept track of all that had been happening. And now, all I wanted was to rip out certain pages and pretend they never existed. All I was left with were questions. I wondered what to do with the spiritual insights I'd received that seemed like they now had no context. I was confused as to why things all shattered the way they did when, just weeks before, it all seemed to be going so well. Now, that verse on the front of my journal felt more like a mockery than a reflection of real life. I just wanted to finish filling the book so I could close it and be done, never to open that one ever again.
But then I realized that I've treated my life-story this was sometimes too. I've wished I could tear out the chapters and parts I didn't like and erase all the unwelcome, painful moments from my memory and history forever. I've wrestled to make peace with aspects of my journey that have felt too difficult to hold and too much to own. In certain seasons, all I've wanted was to just escape. Apparently, the Psalmist-King once felt the same way when he penned from the wilderness, "Oh, that I had wings like a dove! I would fly away and be at rest" (Psalm 55:6). I guess it's not unusual to envy the birds of the air and wish one could just get away from it all.
Yet, what did Jesus once say when He pointed out the avian world? He said to consider and look at these creatures. To ponder how they don't sow or reap or gather crops for their food, but they are always provided for by the Creator. And how we as humans are of more value than they are and that wishing away our life or worrying about our future only takes strength away from today (Matthew 6:26-34). Instead of looking at the birds and wishing we could escape our reality, Jesus told us to see them as an example of heavenly provision. To reassure us that, with God as our Father, we have nothing to be concerned about... even in the face of our greatest fears and losses and concerns.
I mentally back up to what proceeds that verse on the cover of my journal and realize something profound: what leads to that point of soaring isn't necessarily a life that is going well but one that is dependent: "Those who wait upon the Lord will renew their strength." What makes you soar isn't your accomplishments or your answered prayers or your fulfilled hopes or your own desires but rather, a life that is yielded. A heart that is waiting. A posture of surrender. Those who practice this are the ones who can run without being weary and walk without being faint of spirit. Not because they never get tired or don't have doubts or no longer have fear but because they are upheld by the only One who never falters or fails. Leaning hard on Him is where the strengthening happens.
Suddenly, I don't feel like that verse is quite such a joke to me anymore. Instead, my soul is comforted. In weeks prior, it felt like that verse was laughing at my misery, reminding me of all the pages I wished I could take out forever. Now, I'm realizing that some stuff just has to be left in the mystery and I need to focus on waiting well. I may get the answers someday... but I may not. And that's okay. What matters more is that I need Him most of all. Without Him, I am a tripping, trembling mess of emotions and thoughts and patterns. I stand no chance of soaring with eagles in my own strength because it's honestly gone in a second. But running and walking in His strength? That is limitless. Accessible. Abundant.
And so I leave those pages in and accept that as part of the story, however unwanted they were. Strangely, in the last several weeks, it has felt like the hold of fear that's been on my life has been broken. Even in the face of more loss and betrayal that I didn't ask for, it's like I've discovered a new power and confidence within that has allowed me to rise in the midst of yet another season of pain. I can't say I feel I've regained all my altitude yet, but I'm slowly coming back. Returning to my place of trust and knowing that if a sparrow can't fall without the Father noticing (Matthew 10:29), then how much greater is His care for me.
Add comment
Comments