The blogosphere makes me nervous. It's a remarkable place, really. A place where free voices are a dime a dozen. But, having a voice can be dangerous. It can easily turn into a platform for complaining and pity-seeking and self-loathing. It so quickly becomes a place for criticism and cruel judgment and lies that get believed simply because something strange--an uncanny binding with the possibility of reality--happens when opinions get put into fonts.
And here I am on my unpublished soapbox, admitting that I have a serious love-hate relationship with the very platform for my readable thoughts.
It's because of days like today. The days when I'd much rather hide from the world. The days when I want to complain. When I want somebody to feel sorry for me. To really hear me when my words aren't so eloquent. To still hear me when words won't come out at all. To affirm my grief over something I have lost. To affirm my grief over losing something that wasn't really mine in the first place.
A very real and present enemy would love for me to think that my life is the worst one that I could possibly be living. That today was a waste. That a year was a waste. That a decade was a waste. That I should dwell in the dark shadows of what is behind me or what might have been. That I should leave my hope today behind for the fear of what might happen tomorrow.
But, a very real and loving Savior wants me to remember that He has already walked this road before me. That remaining in Him is what brings the fullness of joy. That He is working everything out for good. That He is always faithful and kind, and He's not holding anything back from me. "For the Lord God is a sun and shield; the Lord bestows favor and honor; no good thing does He withhold from those whose walk is blameless," (Psalm 84:11).
When I am too weary to hold on to anything else, there remain faith and hope and love. So, instead of complaining, I'm going to hang on, for life, with a tired and aching grasp, to the truth that I know and to the One that holds on, for life and with ever-strong hangs, to me.
There is a harvest of joy available to me. But it requires something. I can't just hear God's word and acknowledge that it sounds great. I have to dig down beneath the layers of dirt, plant it into my life, and let God shape me and grow me with it.
"Those who sow with tears will reap with songs of joy. Those who go out weeping, carrying seed to sow, will return with songs of joy, carrying sheaves with them," (Psalm 126:5-6).
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