I had a dream the other day that I was on a riverbank with Him. Sins were patches on my sleeve sewn with black thread. Sitting beside me, He began tearing at the patches, only to find the seam had woven its way into my skin, hunting for my bloodstream.
Tears filled His eyes as my own dull means of sight grew watery from the pain of His knife. I was silent. There was nothing I could say – this clearly hurt Him more than me. Having removed the patch, He worked His pruning blade through my flesh until only fragments of the former parasitical cord remained.
“They will grow into new burs,” He warned me, “and this operation will be needed again, but you will be stronger for the fresh oxygen which now can reach your veins.”
All we could long for lies in the hands of surrender. Maybe not every answer will be explained immediately. But He is good. New doors are opening before me, and with each door comes questions and fears filling my mouth with bitterness. I feel it as it rushes from my lips in the form of self-pity, pungent as the Kolkata sewers. But He is good. Self-pity only has room when surrender is absent. If my life is truly surrendered to Him, it will uproot those burs. When their weeds rise again then, forming their way into black threads becoming another patch of sin on the arm meant to bear the seal of His love, it’s proof that something is dwelling outside the realm of surrender. Even as I write this, self-pity is fighting to worm its way in, proving there is an element of me that doesn’t trust God to use this. But He is good. And He has promised to use those who make themselves available to Him, no matter how broken we are. So I write. And I sit on the riverbank and allow Him to rip each black cord from my dying skin. Because He is good.
“Yet I am always with You; You hold my right hand. You guide me with Your counsel, and afterward You will take me up into glory.” – Psalm 73:23-24
Until next time,