By Elisabeth Corcoran
Things have been quiet. Almost too quiet. I think part of me had gotten used to the rhythm of crisis and loss. I'm still in the middle of everything. But there's been no outward movement. And, this is the odd part, no inward developments either.
For months, I've been journaling, praying, reading every book on pain and healing and "where's God when you need him", talking with friends, crying myself to sleep; and now, now I write in my journal each morning and say things like, "it's a pretty day", and "I think Jack might have pink eye". It's like last month I came to some conclusions - that I'm okay with sitting with the unknown. The unknown being the knowing that every good and bad thing that enters my life comes from the loving hand of a loving God who loves me more than I'll ever know on this side of things. That no matter what happens, it's all really going to be okay. It all really is. It took eleven, long, hard months to get me here. Or 35+ years depending on how you look at it.
Job 42 says: "I'm convinced: You can do anything and everything. Nothing and no one can upset your plans. I admit I once lived by rumors of You; now I have it all firsthand. I'm sorry, forgive me. I'll never do that again, I promise!" (The Message)
"I admit I once lived by rumors of You; now I have it all firsthand." This experience has brought me to a place with God that not only had I never experienced before (being in pain and him not coming to the rescue, even in intangible ways like peace and strength), but hadn't even known was an option of how he might choose to respond to one of his hurting children. These eleven months have paradoxically brought further clarity to me of God's mystery. His mystery was a rumor to me before, now I've seen it firsthand.
And now, here I sit with that revelation. And there seems to be nothing further in me right now. Either I learned the thing I needed to learn. Or maybe God is just giving me a break from deep thoughts. Sometimes, even in the middle of stuff, for some reason, a break of sorts just seems to come our way. Maybe the quiet isn't something that I should be stewing over. Maybe I don't need to find my identity in always having something mulling around in the back of my head. Maybe, just maybe, it's okay for me to rest in the quiet. To fully believe that right where I am and what I'm thinking and feeling and writing right now is right where I'm supposed to be. That if the hard times are somehow sovereignly from or allowed by God, and the good times are most certainly from God, then the quietness might just be from God too.
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