I have not blogged yet this year.  I started one but I don't remember what happened to cause me to abandon it unfinished.  But here we are, almost to March, and you've read 0 new blog posts from me.  I am deeply sorry about that.  And also about the state of my mind.

Writing is my therapy.  And also memes.  Those are fun too.

Actually let's talk about that for a minute.  When I scrolled thru my photos they were mostly pictures of food or memes that I saved.

Sorry kids.  I probably need an intervention.

There are also pictures related to food and/or the making of food.

And one of me eating food.

Ahem.

Now that you know the contents of my photo stream we can get on with your regularly scheduled blog post.

Wait, one more.

This girl slays me. 

 Every.Single.Time.

I accidentally left my sunglasses at her house and my sister texted me this picture saying "I hope Riley doesn't fall and break her face...or your glasses."

Now, onto the meat of the blog.

Deep breath.

I'm not even sure how to start.

This post has been rolling around in my heart for a full week, parts of it even longer than that.  It could get real heavy and really real and I've debated on how raw I'm willing to be.  But two weeks ago I stood up in front of my congregation and I was real and I talked about mental illness, my mental illness, and the feedback I got was so affirming and life-giving.  So, let's dive into this next story.

Have you ever prayed for a miracle that didn't happen?  Like, prayed and really believed that the Lord would do the thing you asked for?  And then He didn't?  This is that story.  It's messy.  But I invite you into the mess with me.

Without going into all the details (because not all of this is my story to tell) I laid my hands on someone I love dearly and prayed for a miracle a few weeks ago.  I did it because I felt the Holy Spirit leading me to.  I didn't want to do it but I couldn't shake the feeling that I was supposed to.  And so I took the risk.

As soon as I did it I was bombarded with guilt and fear that I had given this person false hope.  I prayed again and again like the father in Mark 9:24 "I do believe; help me overcome my unbelief!".

Several weeks went by and it became apparent that the miracle I asked for wasn't going to happen.  And then my pastor preached a sermon on taking the risks Jesus asks us to.  I knew I had to talk to him about this story that I was involved in because I didn't know what to do with it.  

What in the world do you do when you feel you've taken a risk in obedience to Christ and it ends badly??

And my wise pastor listened to me, prayed with me, and encouraged me to write a psalm of lament.

Have you read the Psalms?  I love them if only for the gamut of emotion they run.  There are psalms of praise, psalms of thanksgiving, psalms of despair, psalms of lament.  Nothing is sugar coated, nothing is cleaned up and wrapped in a neat little bow.  This is real life stuff.  It's raw and messy and brutal.

So, the next morning in my quiet house, I did the hard work of writing how I actually felt.  I had to stop more than once because I was crying too hard to see.  It wasn't this cute-little-tear-trickle kind of crying.  It was ugly-bent-in-half-gut-wrenching sobbing.

When I was done I shared my psalm of lament with my pastor.  And I'll share it now with you.

My spirit feels crushed within me,

my heart, torn in two.

Anger, pain, and guilt vie for first place,

my eyes ache from weeping.

Is my faith too small?

Did I misinterpret God?

Are my prayers broken?

What happens now?

I crave the sunshine

and yet it feels like a mockery.

I crave the Son

and yet I am angry with him.

Why?  Why did You not preserve life?

Why?  Why did you let it happen again?

Why?  Why do you let the faithful suffer?

Why?  Why do the wicked receive?

How long, oh Lord, must we wait?

How long for the gift of life?

How long till our hearts are mended?

Will they ever be?

The days march on, one after another

and I learn to live with a broken heart.

Somehow the pieces keep beating,

marking time, marking moments.

There is sorrow, yes, but also joy.

It is the greatest of mysteries

how the two can exist together.

Will I ever understand?

Can I rest in the knowledge that God is good?

My heart screams betrayal.

My mind remembers past faithfulness.

My eyes see present gifts.

This story is a mess.

I cannot see a clear way.

So this is where trust comes in

and I will be truthful.

Lord, I believe you are good,

help my unbelief.

Lord, I believe you for life,

help my unbelief.

So I'll put one foot in front of the other.

My heart will continue to beat.

I will lift my hands high

and my eyes will see the glory of the Lord.

When I wrote that I didn't know that the very next day the Lord would remind me of an important truth thru the glory of the sunrise.

I have one son who almost always jerks away when I try to touch him.  But almost every day he comes to me saying "I need a hug" and I am happy to comply.  This same son will often join me on the couch before anyone else is awake and sit smack against me.  I'm not allowed to put my arm around him or squeeze his knee or touch his foot with mine.  All the touching needs to be his idea and I try to respect that.

So the day after I wrote my psalm of lament this early morning son and I were on the couch, drinking coffee, watching the sun rise out the double front window of our house.

It was so beautiful and I didn't want to stop watching it but the other two windows in the room were catching my eye.  Two windows that faced almost in the same direction as the front window.  

Here is the view from the window closest to the front window:

Still really beautiful, right?  But only a hint of color even tho these two pictures were taken within the same minute.  The perspective is shifted only a few feet.

And then the third window.  It's in the same room as the first two, but, again, the perspective is shifted a few feet.

Almost complete darkness.  I said to my son, without thinking any deeper than the sunrise, "Wow, if we only looked out this window we would have no idea the sun was coming up."

And just like that all the breath left my lungs and I was stunned to silence.  When I am focused only on looking out life's window of pain and unmet expectations and loss and grief I cannot see the beauty coming up mere feet away.

And here's another thing, if I am patient and wait even five minutes,  the windows tell a new story.

Days later I am still in awe when I look at these photos.  Is waiting in the dark fun?  Nope, not even a little bit.  It's maybe one of the most not fun things ever.  It's painful and confusing and sometimes super lonely.  But how much more beautiful are the colors of the dawn after we've endured the black of night?

Which of life's windows holds your perspective right now?  If you only see the dark may I humbly suggest you write a psalm of lament?  If you see the light may I humbly suggest you encourage someone who you know is in the dark?

And may Jesus continue to reveal himself to all of us.