On the Unknown

“Open your mind and heart –your entire being — to receive My love in full measure.” – Sarah Young (Jesus Calling)

The house was quiet this past Saturday morning. My feet had hit the floor before the others had even left dream land.  I shuffled to the Keurig, and with one eye squinted shut poured water and dropped the plastic cup into the machine.   My fingers drummed the countertop and I could already feel the busy creeping in. I had barely been awake ten minutes and the to-do lists, and must not forgets started a racket in my brain.  There are just some things that should not happen before one is properly caffeinated and worrying is one of them. 

I crept into my office, lit a few candles, flames flickering and casting a warm glow that chased away the dusk.  I needed quiet.  There have been so many distractions of late.  I have been pulled in a million directions, spinning wildly through my day only to end it with a sinking feeling that nothing was getting done.  My focus divided, my attention split, never fully present in any one thing. 

I sat on the day bed, books and Bible and journal all surrounding me as if somehow what I’m longing for can be found in the presence of inspiration.  The one area where I have felt the most acute emptiness is this time, the time where pen meets paper and ink bleeds words that are just for me and Him.  

And while my words may end up here, in this space, they are His first.  Each morning He has become the safe harbour for my heart, I have crawled up in His lap and, there in the space between His outstretched arms is the light that shows me the way.  The place where my soul can lean in and find release and be refined without the noise of on-line, or any other outside distractions. And lately, there has been a reluctance for me to put pen to paper. 

God is laying something on my heart, and trust me when I tell you that I wish I could see it plain as day because the unknown scares me into fist clenched and fingers curled.  What happens when you open yourself up to receive? What might be uncovered when we uncurl our fingers from the palm of our hands?

My pen glides across the pages of my journal, the flowing ink pushing back the noise of tasks and fear and I exhale, push my breath right out to the edges and whisper, beg God, to meet me here, to show me what He needs. 

I would be lying if I didn’t tell you that fear has been holding court in my heart, that my chest isn’t pounding a ferocious tattoo of the unknown.  I would also be lying if I didn’t tell you that as my breath pushed out and flickered the flame, peace settled in my midst.  I set my pen down, closed my eyes, crossed my legs and laid my hands, palms up and open, on the tops of my knees — ready to receive. 

And while I do not yet know what is burning inside of me, what unknown mystery God is slowly unveiling before my eyes, I do know this; the unknown is always known to God.  Always.  

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