A blogger friend posted today about change, and adjusting, and the "new normal." I read her blog all the time, but comment infrequently.
Here's my comment from today:
I haven't commented in awhile, but I read every post. I have to comment on this one.
Big changes in my life just this summer:
June 15: my husband's grandfather (the man who raised him) moved to heaven after 90 years of a hugely effective life for Jesus on earth
July 13: our 5-year-old nephew (same side of the family) moved to heaven after the swingset his daddy built fell on him and crushed him
Aug. 2: our dog of 9 years went into kidney failure and moved to heaven (I believe)
My 8-year-old cried herself to sleep last night after stating my heart so succinctly:"I don't want to grow up! I don't want to die. I don't want you to die. I don't want Daddy to die."
I've walked in a fog these last two weeks, missing my dog and trying to work through big anger---towards God, maybe, but mostly because of the state of our fallenness. We live in a fallen world, and sometimes, life just sucks.
Here's where I've landed:
How can I worship a God who lets kids die, then gets glory from it? I choose to.
Can I really believe He loves me, and is for me? I choose to.
Can I really love others unabashedly and authentically, even though that probably means deep pain and the risk of abandonment and betrayal? I choose to.
That's my "new-the-way-things-are."
In John's gospel, when Jesus says He will send the Counselor, the Comforter (the Paraclete who literally attaches to our side), the original meaning for "Spirit" is "a gentle blast of wind." The meaning for "Truth" is "certainty." The Holy Spirit--the Spirit that leads me into all truth--is a gentle blast of certainty.
I'm certain Jesus loves me and is for me.
I'm certain God is sovereign and works all things for my good.
I'm certain my paradigm will be shifting constantly because
I'm certain things will always change.
I'm certain God is the same yesterday, today, and always.
I'm certain I won't always feel sad because those who sow in tears will reap with joy;
and though sorrow is here for the night, joy comes in the morning;
and He's giving me a crown of beauty instead of ashes,
the oil of gladness instead of mourning, and
the garment of praise instead of the spirit of despair.
I'm certain He's giving me the treasures of darkness, riches stored in secret places so that
I will know He is the LORD, and He calls me by name.
Oh, that needs to be my everpresent "normal."