Friday, June 12, 2009

speaking of soundtracks

you'll remember it, i'm sure. you had pushed it as long as you reasonably could, beyond reasonable, even. your teeth were chattering, your lips were blue, you couldn't control the shivering. your fingers and toes were long past pruned. over and over you had blown off your mother's concerns: "aren't you freezing? do you want a snack? don't you want to take a break and warm up?" and the half-hour warnings, the ten-minute warnings, the one-more-jumps.

luke finally got out of the pool the other day, chattering and pruned and hungry and thirsty and chlorine-eyed and exhausted. (remember the great big beach towel? the warm, tight snuggle in the sun that finally exhausts the shivering?) and we headed up the dozen or so stairs toward the locker room, home of warm clothes and the after-you-get-dressed snack. i was a few steps ahead of him when he tripped over that great big beach towel, bare pool-softened knees catching the blow on the edge of the concrete stair.

"i hate my mama!" he screamed as i scooped him up, as he saw the blood (which he fears most of all) dripping from his knee, as he broke into hysterical sobs. and i put him right back down, with a stern word about that-is-never-okay and why-would-you-say-such-a-thing?

i put him right back down.

"because you tripped me! because it's your fault!" still sobbing hysterically.

just a few seconds and a short explanation (from me) of why that was impossible and why his misplaced expression of anger was not okay and a sobbing apology (from him) later, i scooped him back up again and we took care of the wound.

the knee, that is. and as for the wound inflicted when, in response to his anger, i put him back down?

How long, O Lord? Will you forget me forever?
How long will you hide your face from me?
How long must I wrestle with my thoughts
and every day have sorrow in my heart?
How long will my enemy triumph over me?
Look on me and answer, O Lord my God.
Give light to my eyes, or I will sleep in death;
my enemy will say, "I have overcome him,"
and my foes will rejoice when I fall. (Psalm 13:1-4)

no sign of You
feeling this short
Home...not even close
nerves left exposed
stumbling through the lines
feeling alone
it hurts when we fall
the wrong wall

and shake fists at the sky
i have my reasons why.

when the psalmist cried out in anger, did his Father set him back down, with a reproach and conditional comfort? get it right and then i'll love you? when the psalmist blamed his Creator for the brokenness of his life, for the bleeding wounds he had to bear, did El-Shaddai, He who is sufficient to meet every need, set him down and correct his raging? when the broken man pleaded and threatened defeat for his Alpha and Omega, did Jehovah-Jireh, the provider, give him a time-out before a band-aid?

big enough.

God is big enough even for my misplaced anger. He does not fear it. He who is a man of sorrows, acquainted with grief, does not withdraw from my raging. He does not set me down, bleeding wounds exposed, and require my apology before applying the salve.

i don't remember one jump or one leap. just quiet steps away from your lead.
with so much deception, it's hard not to wander away.

God does not change. whether i fall on my knees in tears or climb to the top rung to shake my fist at the sky, He is Abba. He is.

But I trust in your unfailing love;
my heart rejoices in your salvation.
I will sing to the Lord,
for he has been good to me. (Psalm 13:5-6)

No comments: