Weeks can go by, sometimes even months, with nothing but ease and calm breezes.
And then, like the changing of a season, you suddenly notice how cold and dark it has become. The days are shorter and the nights are longer and it’s all happening so quickly. This is the season I am in right now. Trying to find my footing, not sure where the ground is exactly.
But isn’t that it, the living by faith? You trust in what you cannot see because it is eternal.
It’s not just the walking that can be all trepidation and unease. The pain, the tearing away, is unsettling too.
What will come next or be left after all this? I wonder.
Sitting in the emergency room, watching the woman with her arm cradled close in a sling and the bloom of a bruise around her eye. Police, just down the hall, standing outside someone’s room. My stomach tightens.She walks out beyond the sliding doors and onto the street.
I look away, down at my own hand, all bloodied and swollen and turning darker shades. What will come next for us after all this? What comes from such pain? Where is grace?
I wasn’t looking for it but things have a way of coming to you when you need to hear it most.
On the screen and the page, such simple words:
So if anyone is in Christ, there is a new creation: everything old has passed away; see, everything has become new!
The resurrection didn’t just happen once, it is always happening, God is always working in us. Our outer nature, as Paul called it, wastes away but inside there is new life. Our whole being is a testament to resurrection, to the life of Jesus.
So death is at work in us, but life in you.
Maybe this is where we are to see grace. Seemingly endless opportunities to die and be reborn, transformed, into something new. Endless, radical grace.
I don’t know when this season will end or what it will bring. But the work of faith is the living itself, so I get down to laying new seeds and pulling up old growth. Deep in the holes, I know, something new and delicious will grow.