I have loved you with an everlasting love; I have drawn you with loving-kindness-- Jeremiah 3:3

Sunday, September 12, 2010


Silence can become my shield. It used to be my sword when the enemy is too much. The world is mean. While it is true that it is a privilege to exist, it is a war here--a war, bruises and all, I am bent to conquer and win. As of yet, the fog has not cleared. The sky up there has not hinted a win. And it hss taken a long time. IT IS a long crawl here. And I'm dying with anxiety and fear. The survival instinct of a frail human being is starting to get too itchy inside, it's hard to sit still. Needlessly, I'd say, Job and Hannah were incredible saints. How could they wait that long and trust the God who said He exists (regardless of time and distance) so tenaciously?

Of course, who am I to ask too many questions? Who am I to question God his ways? I don't see what he sees. But often I also use this kind of reasoning to him when I attempt to pull the string of that heaven door for him to listen to me or at least if words are too heavy, for him to feel the urgency of the tugs I manage to muster just for him to bend his ear towards me. I often hear myself say, "Lord, what am I to comprehend what you have in mind. Who am I to understand all these things I'm anxious about? I am the smallest of all worms. Listen to the cries of this worm who doesn't know much, who is not equipped of understanding what greatness it is that wraps your heart. I often forget how good you have been. I miss many times what you want me to hit. I am too slow and hard of hearing. Remind me again, O Father, of your great intention. I am the dullest student there is. This hardship I'm wallowing now is causing this system failure. Teach me again. Show me. Answer me. Rescue me. Hold out your hands before my marrows surrender to the mud."

I am surviving and trying to pull up my chin as the mean mud around is now right up to my neck. I am fighting the flow of mud now pulling my weight. But I am still here. I am holding on to the greater weight that's pushing me onward.

And what's giving me strength to write this after a month or so of solid silence is his promise in Isaiah 43:2. "When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; And through the rivers, they will not overflow you. When you walk through the fire, you will not be scorched, Nor will the flame burn you." What a promise! What comfort!

Am I glad to have found solace in the God who reigns even in the solid quietness!