Dark

I've had a couple days of light.
And I can see the shadows for what they were a little bit clearer.

These past days have been really hard. Dark. Depression. Like my thoughts are not my own thoughts.
But I know I am not alone. Sometimes we are afraid to speak.
Afraid to be a burden on others.
But.

I felt too weak to really pray.

Too weak to fight.

Too dark to hope.

Too burdened to lift my head.

Too crushed to turn up to God.

But no connection.

If God was reaching for me, there was no life in me to respond.

Where was God?
Where was God?

While I would like to say I trod victoriously, that darkness was crushing but he was my light, but:

“Let him who walks in darkness and has no light trust in the name of the Lord and rely on his God” (Isa. 50:10).

Not a promise of “I will be your light” here, although given other places. Not a promise to lift the darkness. Just a “Trust me.”
By faith.
Trust.
Rely.
Know decision. Know commitment. Know.

How? How?

And there I know God.
In the dark. 

Not even see God, feel God, hear God, sense God.

Know God.

In the choice, God gives by his Spirit in an undiscernible way the choice.
God gives
choice.
For this too is beyond me.

I know God by will in his mere act of sustaining, keeping my foot from slipping too far when I was sure I was slipping.

I know him in the small ways that I did keep orienting myself to him, Bible reading, sermons, small little prayers of no strength. Still kept getting out of bed, eating, going to Bible studies. Things that truly seemed beyond me.

He was my will. My choice. Fulfilling his command to trust, to rely, himself in me. For my thoughts were dark, my heart was melted, my spirit was crushed, my will was weak.

And still.

God chose me, and still chose me, and still was my choice for him.
God was working in me to will and to do
perhaps when I least felt it.
I, least.

When wanting to give up, still compelled.

When death seems strong, his life is stronger.

He works

In silence

In the nothingness

To propel

Compel

Give life.

This is our great God

In the darkness.

 

I wish I was a great warrior, but I was a little, weak, battered pawn.
I dwelt in darkness and could not rouse myself.

We like to say you are stronger than you think. 

No.
We like to say what doesn't kill you will make you stronger.
No.
It makes some stronger; some bitter; some scarred; some more selfish; some more loving.
But for the grace of God go I.
It didn't make me stronger; it made me more aware of how weak I was. 

But I learned how much stronger God was in the dark than I thought. Now, on this side, I know how much more present God was there in the dark than I thought. Even when I didn’t see, feel, hear, touch, sense him. Minute by minute, he was making my choice, coming alongside my choice, empowering my choice, working in me to will and to do, giving me the seeds of his will, my will, my choice, his choice. He was present. 

By faith, 

I know. 

By continuing when all cries give up, I know.

It is hard--I wish I could say I know that he was more present in that moment.
So this is for you in the darkness.
He is there.
He is working in you.
This breath that may seem impossible, that shows you are still living, is from him.
In you. 

I wish I held my head up, or courageously controlled my thoughts, or strongly stiffened my resolve. Something.

Was I a failure?

Perhaps. But maybe failure needed redefining. Maybe I need to see that his face is still turned to me, even when all is dark. Even when I’m too weak to lift my head up.
For I often think his face is turned to me only when I look to him.

But his face is always turned toward me, for I am his, and he is mine.
Christ's nailed hands, I am forever cleaved on his. No separation.
I am his. He is mine.
Even in dark.
Even when I don't feel.

And he is not looking on you, on me, as a failure. He pushed me past the breaking point 

not 

so that I could crow of my victories, 

but
so that his power was made perfect in weakness. 

So that 

I stumbled 

into his lap, into his arms. He caught me, held me—and instead of sighing in disappointment, he said, “This is where I wanted you to be. My arms. My strength. My child, failure not. You lived by faith, my gift of faith in you, my Son's faithfulness in you. You are faithful. Not failure. Faithful I name you.” 

I saw faith as being strong, and my weakness as doubt. 

Faith as belting triumph, not my wobbling in the dark. 

But faith, you are faithful. Listen to him in your own silence. Christ in you, his faithfulness in you, his faith in you, propelling you to his own Father.

  
"Though he slay me, yet will I trust him" (Job 13:15). 

This is the faith of the darkness where those words come from lips that are filled with the Spirit, his presence in his distance. Eyes can be so blinded by the dark that it sees not the light, but the Light is still present.

***And assurance--the past few days have been better with the doctor's suggested supplements.