Mis Lagrimas

It’s a tale as old as time.  

So...she rewrote the ending.  

You can thank me after the dust settles a bit.  I’m getting used to waiting.  Some flavors, you must allow to acclimate, before you can fully savor...

Let’s face it, predictable gets boring and you all need a little salt in your lives.  😉😬

"To weep savingly over not possessing God as your treasure, He must have become precious to you.  The gospel awakens sorrow for sin by awakening a savor for God' (108). - John Piper God Is the Gospel

It's been a heavy, heavy week, my friends.  I have been muddied by the battle.  My emotions are heightened, and my body is wounded and weakened.  Oh, Matt.  Poor Matt.  So often do I bite the hand that seeks to hold my own.  (And I am not saying I don't get my share of grief from him...I have just been awakened to the sorrow of my own sin for so long now, it is my most common observation.)

ANYWAY...I bit the hand REALLY hard today, and I ended up going to church alone. (Don't even act like you all have never had an argument on the way to church.  I know of several pastors...)

I revisited a local church, had a meaningful time and appreciated the variety (despite my own guilt for having actually runaway this time).  I was particularly excited when they announced it was a communion Sunday, since I have not been privileged to experience it in quite a while.  I was so excited, in fact, that I starting sobbing...which got so close to out of control, I had to put my head down, and guess what...

I ended up missing the usher handing out the elements.  

Take that with a grain of...oh man - serves me right. 

I fought with everything in me to squash the reinforcement of my own deep, internal distortions about my value and worth (which I have struggled with for...well, as long as I can remember - I have this vague image of in utero), and, also, a little annoyance at the people around me for not making the effort to alert me to my folly.  

I mean...it's not like it's their fault or anything.  I'd thought about explaining to the lady next to me why I was getting so emotional about the communion.  Sometimes I look to strangers for comfort.  I know.  It’s weird.  I don't know where I get this strange drive. (I secretly wish someone could just finally read my mind.) It almost never works.   People, in general, are rarely ever a source of comfort to me (but maybe that's because I'm looking for comfort in the WRONG source???)  I don’t know why I even keep trying…so, today, I didn't.

The irony is not lost on me.

Like so many other times in my life. I stood, humbled.  I also stood alone and empty-handed, but by whose hand???  Who am I to complain?  Anyway, the best part of the message was this "Jesus makes the victim the victor."  I would add that's even when I am the victim by my own hand or in my own mind.

*Adapted from Maya Angelou's "Still I Rise"

I got pretty dark this week, and I struggled with some deep-seated chains.  Remember those times in the closet, I've talked about (the miscarriage days)?  I think I was closer to that kind of pain than I've been in a long while.  Deep down pain.  (Like grieving my sister kind of deep.)

I got so low, I almost couldn't even cry out, and then I remembered (and repeated/rephrased) my very own cries, mis lagrimas:

Papa!
Papa!
Papa!
Papa!
Papa, I hurt.
Papa, it hurts.
Papa I’m sorry. I know I’m messing this up.
Papa move mountains.
Papa move mountains.
Papa move mountains for me.

And then, I heard Him interrupt me, voicing over my own cries: 

Kristen, move mountains with me.

And I was silenced.  (He really CAN do what no man can do. 😉). And I was annoyed...but moved.

So, I thought, Well, I have been TRYING, and I'm starting to think I don't know what you mean...but I said, "Wait…I don’t know how."

Terrible part, filthy bathroom...take me as is or not at all.

And I swear, I saw Him roll His eyes at me and utter this HUGE sigh.

So, I said, "I can be a little much, huh?"

And He scrunched His nose and pinched his fingers open to just a bit:  "Mmmmm"

It doesn't strike me as incredibly surprising that I have spent about 5 years in the Spanish Bible on the psalms...but it seems divinely coincidental that I have been agonizing over these verses in Psalm 6 up to this point...

Me he consumido a fuerza de gemir;

Todas las noches inundo de llanto mi lecho,

Riego mi cama con mis lagrimas.

Which means something along the lines of "I have wasted away with moaning; every night I flood my bed with crying, I water my bed with my tears..."

And every time I read that, in both the languages I read, I hear myself crying, "YES, LORD!  Amen.  Can we PLEASE do something about all of mis lagrimas???!!"

Unfortunately, I was also reminded that, 

I will believe the heights for which I strive 

Are only reached by anguish and by pain;

And though I groan and writhe beneath my crosses,

I yet shall see through my severest losses

The greater gain. (107)

-L.B. Cowman

Streams in the Desert 

*full poem below

It seems as though, my tears won't fail me now.  And even when I don't feel it, I know my God is as sure as the prevalence of my tears...Ok, ok...even surer than that.  😉

Never fear...  I applied some of my own savvy techniques, and this week, I applied a new one, for the very first time. I have found my very own, super perfect, soothing drive.  It has taken me a little longer than most, given some of my own unique needs, which include but are not limited to: 1) it avoids all trauma and strong, negative emotion triggers 2) it is isolated, because "the less I know the better" in the way of people and traffic 3) it is familiar...because I have a past tendency to get anxious when I am lost and gps IS (APPARENTLY) part of the of the entire world's out-to-get-me conspiracy.  

So, I found me a route, and I drove, and I played that sad song over and over and over, because there was no one else in the car to be annoyed.  And I drove and drove and drove, and I kept playing that song over and over and over...until it didn't feel so sad anymore.  And then, I went home.

Turns out, little birds can do big things, too.

With love always intended but often misrepresented,

KSO

* * * * *

I will not doubt, though all my ships at sea

Come drifting home with broken masts and sails;

I will believe the Hand which never fails,

From seeming evil worketh good for me.

And though I weep because those sails are tattered, 

Still will I cry while my best hopes lie shattered:

"I trust in Thee."

I will not doubt, though all my prayers return

Unanswered from the still, white realm above;

I will believe it is an all-wise love

Which has refused these things for which I yearn;

And though at times I cannot keep from grieving,

Yet the pure ardor of my fixed believing

Undimmed shall burn.

I will not doubt, though sorrows fall like rain,

And troubles swarm like bees about a hive.

I will believe the heights for which I strive 

Are only reached by anguish and by pain;

And though I groan and writhe beneath my crosses,

I yet shall see through my severest losses

The greater gain.

I will not doubt.  Well anchored in this faith, 

Like some staunch ship, my soul braves every gale;

So strong its courage that it will not quail

To breast the mighty unknown sea of death.

Oh, may I cry, though body parts with spirit

"I do not doubt," so listening worlds may hear it

With my last breath.