She sits at the table next to me with her family. Her sweater, all creamy with colors of Neapolitan ice cream and a soft splash of blue, envelope her in its warmth. She has come to simply be. She begins to listen to her father read from Colossians.
Her long fingers, slim and elegant, reach for the arm and hand of her father. They grasp. Ever reaching for the familiar. They are met with comfort. The sure, strong hands meet hers. Comforting. Reassuring. Ever there.
She is fragile, this one. I heave a sigh of relief, for it was not all that long ago that simply seeing this father and daughter together praising Jesus would bring me to a place of such emotion that I could hardly focus through it. The tears would nearly undo me. Yet Jesus has made illness, disease, and suffering a triumphant, victorious thing, for which I can praise His name. So it's in the familiar, and perhaps even the potentially uncomfortable, that I began to pray for them.
He whispers in her ear. The mom tucks a stray tendril of hair behind her ear. Praise. Thanks. Worship. They rise, like the colors from an early morning sunset, spreading out in magnificent splendor.
What goes through her mind? What does she hear? What does she imagine? Does she dance among the lilies, arms strong and lithe, voice carrying in the wind as she offers up her praise? How does she hear the voice of God? Does He whisper, or is His voice sure and deep? Does she feel the strength of His arms, holding her as she falls asleep at night? Can she sense His presence surrounding her as her dad speaks truth over her; as the worship of His people surrounds her?
My list continues on, but for this day, this moment, I am overwhelmed by the gift of LIFE. And for that I give my thanks. I am thankful for her life, I am thankful for my life. I see her, and I see me; a picture of my desperate state made new and beautiful through the blood of Christ.
I am fragile before Him. I am broken before Him. I am ever reaching, seeking, looking for the strength and comfort that only He can provide. I need His steady presence. His whispers in my ear. The knowledge of exactly who He has made me to be.
Life is messy. No doubt about it. It most often doesn’t fit in neat little compartments, able to be organized according to our wishes, desires, compulsions... But in that messiness there is somehow the potential for the God of the Universe to be exalted... glorified... put on the throne where He belongs. Life.
You choose. I choose. Death. Or life. Stuck in old ways, refusing to change, refusing to praise His name in whatever circumstances we may find ourselves this day. Or moving ahead... into a LIFE of gratitude and praise. Of recognizing that it takes place on the easy days and on the difficult days. Of understanding that pain and suffering nourish grace, and affliction and joy are arteries of the same heart. Of realizing that mourning and dancing are but movements in our amazing God's unfinished symphony of beauty. Of believing that God is patiently transforming all the notes of my life into the song of His Son.
ALL the notes of my life. Some will ring a bit more harmonious than others. But all need the transfiguring touch that only He can provide. The transfiguring LIFE that only He can breathe upon them. Upon me.
The fragile are among us. The fragile are us. He waits for us to praise Him.
So today, I am thankful for wheelchairs, the intimate love between parents and their beautiful daughter, fragility, and lessons learned in a quaint little coffee shop in Seattle.
Life is beautiful and so are you.
Love,
Lyss
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