Friday, March 8, 2013

In the whisper

And so it begins.

Considering what to write when you know you have so much to say, yet the page seems daunting.  The task to great.

But, here I am.  Beginning.  The genesis of my heart's thoughts.  But where, where do I start?

As I filled out the profile, jotting down this and that, things you may or may not want to know about me.  I came to occupation.  And it blared at me.  A blank space summing up my 50+ years.  What am I?

I know Whose I am.  For over 30 years I have had His name upon my lips, chiseled in my heart, written on my face.  He who could so easily have overlooked me with all the things He must keep in order, prayers to answer, people to save, storms to calm or stir up.  Yet He didn't.

I am still learning that, you know.  Learning how He didn't overlook me.  And I am still learning who He is.  How He loves me.  I could dance and shout with the joy I feel just knowing that no matter how long I study, and learn, and draw near, there will always, ALWAYS be new things to learn about Him.

You see, I am a Child of God's.  Often I tell my youth group girls that we are daughters of the King.  And that makes us . . . princesses.  I was chosen.  Adopted.  Redeemed.  Made clean.  Holy.  Christ-like.

I have been camped out in the book of Ephesians for a while.  Try it. Just spend time reading it, praying over it and through it. I have copied copious verses as prayers to my Father and God.  Awesome verses that speak of my heritage, my inheritance, my gifts given from the bounty of His riches.  Given to one so unworthy to receive.  I have copied verses packed down, prayed for, whispered, written to those I am praying for.

And there it is.  This is who I am.

For my occupation, my work, my business, my career, has been honed and trimmed and pruned down to this:  I am a Pray-er.  Youth worker, yes.  On-line missionary, oh, yes.  Tiny Hands International volunteer, you betcha!

But about 4 years ago I was wracked with pain.  Forced to give up my ministries, give up my vision of going to missions, give up even my ability to stand for more than 5 minutes at a time.  I felt used up, useless, unhelpful, unable.  Then I learned that the pain will, barring a miracle, never end.  Most likely I'll only have momentary seconds, minutes, hours, even days without it.  This is fibromyalgia.  And I call it The Pain.

In that resting time, in the alone time, I grew tired of being with me, of thinking of me, of thinking of it--The Pain.  And I cried out, "Lord!  How can you use me now?"

And as the song says, the Bible hints at, and God's voice states, He is not in the loud, the upfront, the in-your-face.  He is in the whisper.  And He whispered, "Talk to me."

Why was I surprised?  Why am I still awed when He answers my prayers?  Why do I still lack faith?

Prayer.  When I can do nothing more, nothing else, nothing at all to help, yet I still can be used.  And what an awesome, fantastic, way-cool ministry to be in!  I get to (dancing and hooting! figuratively, cuz, you know, The Pain), I get to talk to God.  I. GET. To Talk. To God.

So, this blog is merely a format for me to share, no, to encourage you to come down this road with me.  There is no greater work that can be done but to be on your knees (figuratively, cuz, you know, The Pain.).  Be still.  Be quiet.  Stop striving and moving, and listen.

He IS in the whisper.