For the past couple of months, I've struggled.
I realize now I was speeding through life without a moment to process what was happening in my life and heart and I finally hit a wall a few weeks ago.
It wasn't pretty.
Many things in my life had changed in painful ways and many things had stayed painfully the same. I wasn't letting myself grieve or think about it too much and then one Saturday night, I found myself crying in the bathroom at a dinner party and I was so confused. I had no idea what had happened.
After some time, I found that maybe my breakdown was more of a break-through. I was able to finally realize that I was breaking- or broken- and I started to talk about it and process it and heal. (Some of our best and hardest moments are when we realize how broken we are, am I right?)
That's why this past weekend's little getaway was such a gift. A faith tonic.
|even the ceilings are interesting in New Orleans|
I know Bill's God. He's the God who spoke about a Messiah, just after Adam and Eve ate the fruit. He's the God who spoke to Abraham, promising blessing and favor. The same One in the burning bush, speaking to Moses. He spoke to the prophets, spoke over His Son at his baptism, floored Saul on the rode to Damascus with his word, and the One who still speaks to His children when we choose to stop and listen.
I know this God who speaks because He's spoken to my heart so many times before and He spoke again this weekend, over and over on point and true to a theme. He spoke about my unique calling, about abiding in Him, about living for Him alone, and about slowing down, about His love and surrender to His control over my life- what Shauna Niequest calls "that wiggly, whatever-God-wants kind of life" that is sometimes so elusive. (In fact, He used her book Cold Tangerines to speak to me over and over this weekend). I'm still processing it all, but maybe when I have a clear cut, short version of what He said, I'll let you know. Right now, it's still swirling around in my heart and mind like a gumbo stewing but not yet settled and rich and thick and itself.
The Evangelist Linda Wright, as she was introduced at the House of Blue's Gospel Brunch, started Sunday's set with a refrain that made me cry. It was a happy cry because it was so powerful and so true and delivered with such truth and such energy. I was overwhelmed.
"Ain't nobody... gonna love you like Jesus" ("ain't nobody!", the backup singers would echo)
"I love you sister" ("ain't nobody")
"but you can't do it" ("ain't nobody")
"I love you brother" ("ain't nobody")
"but you can't either" ("ain't nobody")
"you can try" ("ain't nobody")
"but you just can't do it" ("ain't nobody")
"cause there ain't nobody" ("ain't nobody")
"gonna love you like Him" ("ain't nobody")
"and there ain't nobody... gonna love you like Jesus"
The saxophone was wailing and the back up singers were grooving and I was wiping my eyes, thankful for such a gift. For a God who speaks.
Even in the mundane, sameness of life. Even in the change that makes us squirm. And even at the House of Blues on a Sunday morning in New Orleans.