Done with God? The (Brutally) Honest Psalms Series: #1

THE ‘PODCAST’ Edition of the Post:
Where in the mess of things are you, God?

Where are you who unlock the wind from its storehouses, who raises the seas from the deep, who can calm the waves and the winds and the wall of worries that drown us in a hurricane of whipping hurry and pain?

Where are You who can do anything you want and how can You not want what we wildly want?

Do You see not us burning, drowning, dying, grieving, aching alone in our own skin?

Where in the jilted world are You when babies gasp for air and crematorium fires burn?

You falling asleep at the wheel up there when pulses slam into the Grim Reaper and heart monitors blithely flat line and we’re madly impotent to reef anyone back into the land of the living?

Do You head out on vacation when we are slamming against the floor of heaven with our howling prayers?

Don’t You hear our heart-pounding begging when our prodigals run toward pits, when our people reel with diagnoses, when our veins scream with chemo hurtling after the ravaging cancer?

Where exactly are You looking when the very people who are supposed to hold our hearts next to theirs, just get up and drop the core of us and never look back, and our soul kinda shatters like a glassy rain of shame— and picking up the shards of us cuts each breath?

You around at all, God?

When the people we sacrificed for, turn around and sacrifice us on the altar of rejection, and the stack of our dreams, our days, go up in these mocking tendrils of smoke, and our lives end up being this stinging stench in the nostrils in ways we could never speak out loud?

You noticed? How we’re a whole world who keep playing love songs, hoping that someone would love us, even just once, like we ache to be loved — to be held, our souls caressed and fully seen, clearest glass, and still wanted?

And our God rises, our God never stops rising, and He never stops resurrecting — resurrecting tender hope and relentless love for you in a thousand unlikely places.

Where are you, God?

God is in you, the redeemed and the claimed and the named, God is in you, always rising and raising you up again.

God’s in the brazen rising of the sun with its curtain of determined possibility falling behind it like fresh mercy across all the upturned fields and faces.

God’s in the rising from the ashes, He’s in the rolling away of the stones, He’s in your resistance against the dark, right there in your daily practice of resurrection.

God’s moved right in, bent low and slipped in through the cracks of your broken heart, and camps within you and this is exactly where He is:

He’s fighting for you, so you can be still.

He’s going right before you, always making a way.

He’s carrying you, so you can lean into the strength of the Universe.

He’s the courage in your veins, the drumbeat of the brave in your heart, the resilient grit in your every rising, your every step forward.

He’s in the love that always finds a way to find you.

Never doubt that He’s in the hope that raises your chin, that looks you straight in the eye and believes that you will meet grace again and again and that grace is the most unstoppable force in the universe and that grace gives you enough, makes you enough, and will be all of your enough and it is always on time, not a moment too soon and never a moment too late —  and you can take that to the bank.

Oh Soul, never doubt where He is. Look around — He’s moved right in.

You have a Lover holding you together, you have a Comforter cupping His hands for every tear, you have a Friend whose arm’s around you, pulling you into the safest presence that won’t leave you alone for one God-forsaken moment.

You can feel numb and still be held.

You can feel nothing and still be carried.

You can still be breathing — and your every breath sounds like the whisper of His name, YWHW, Him filling you, Him with you, answering your crying prayers to Him, with more of Himself.

And somewhere —- a child laughs like lilting music … and somewhere someone lives broken given and slips open fingers through a waiting hand, and a shaft of light pries a way through the moving shadows, and sun warms a skyward-seeking face, and everywhere we choose to be a gift to each other, live given to each other, we see exactly where God is — right there in the space between our broken hearts, mending everything.

And there is love resurrecting around us and in us and even now, those brave enough to sit with the honest psalms, feel an awakening to all this resilient grace.

 

 

 

Pick up our story of The Broken Way and how to love a brokenhearted world. This one’s for all of us who have felt our hearts break a bit…

This one’s for the brave and the busted and the real and dreamers and the sufferers and the believers.

This one’s for those who dare to take The Broken Way… into abundance

 

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