Enter the Silence

I'm living a much different life than I had anticipated.

Things haven't turned out like I had planned...

Or hoped for.

But this is what they are. I'm living it. I'm crawling through it.

There is just enough light to see that I am not alone. I'm leaning into the light. I'm breathing in its dust. I'm soaking up its warmth.

I'm reminding myself that one promise I can root my feet into is this:

Mercy is coming. When the sun rises tomorrow it will spill fresh mercy into me. I'll drink it. I'll cling to it.

And then I'll keep on living.

Mercy won't fail. It won't disappoint. It won't hesitate.

Mercy will come like a flood, washing away yesterday's sorrow, creating new pathways and saturating our driest deserts.

When mercy comes for me tomorrow morning...

Jesus, give me the courage to sink into it, to let it crash over me and then to soak...


I'll never forget the trouble, the utter lostness, the taste of ashes, the poison I've swallowed.  I remember it all - oh, how well I remember - the feeling of hitting the bottom. But there's one other thing I remember, and remembering, I keep a grip on hope:  God's loyal love couldn't have run out, his merciful love couldn't have dried up.  They're created new every morning. How great your faithfulness! I'm sticking with God (I say it over and over). He's all I've got left.  God proves to be good to the man who passionately waits, to the woman who diligently seeks. It's a good thing to quietly hope, quietly hope for help from God.  It's a good thing when you're young to stick it out through the hard times.  When life is heavy and hard to take, go off by yourself. Enter the silence.

Lamentations 3:19-28