Buried deep, God tells me it is OK to be in the dark. Good things come from death. Resurrection for one. Fruit for another.
It isn't my comfortable place, though. I know now I wrestle with this thing called faith. I don't do well when I can't see. I am OK with God being Lord and Master and calling the shots, but when He doesn't disclose what those plans are, that is where I start to fall apart. {As in, sit on my bed for three hours, shaking, snot running down my face, thinking I am going to explode unless He starts to speak again.}
He tells me that He won't speak unless I simply rest and know that He is God. This is my weakness: resting without being able to see. Blindness isn't pretty on me. And yet, God insists that I know Him in the dark as well I as do in the light.
He needs me to know that resurrection is on the way. I think of Jesus buried deep and disciples full of questions and wavering faith and I know God wants me to know that I am not the first to question and the first to doubt and the first to give up hope.
On the flip side of the cross, He tells me that it is alright to hope because I have the luxury of knowing that He is risen. I know without a doubt that resurrection occurs after death. I know that my victory is in His blood and that His blood is very much alive.
So, in this moment, I choose rest. I opt for peace. Striving with my Maker gets me nowhere except a dose of woe. Apparently, this lump of clay needs to learn to let the Potter do His thing. And rest, knowing the end result would be better than anything I could have come up with. I never was good at art, anyway.
But, I hope for resurrection. New life. A tree of life to sprout from the earth.
"Hope deferred makes the heart sick but when the desire is fulfilled, it is a tree of life."
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