Wind and Flesh and Jesus

The wind comes.

It comes howling and shows no mercy and it breathes on the windows with rattling breaths and it flings the chairs around the yard. The trees bend before it and I huddle under a blanket and watch the clouds race across the sky.

Today the wind does not touch me, but I know that is temporary.

Tomorrow the wind may push me down, bully me to the ground and remind me that I am nothing– nothing— before it. And if it is not the wind, tomorrow may bring rain, or lightning, or drought, or ice, or ravaging heat, and whatever it brings I will be broken.

This is a broken world, oh, this world that pulls us and tears us and flings us to our faces until we would pull our hair out and weep for the brokenness. Today, if I am not broken, it is only a respite. And if I am not broken, you are.

Children dying, starving, living whole lives without even one shred of joy or hope, and I complain about a little wind. A sister is lost, so lost, to hear that one she loves has tried to take her own life, and I whine that the rain is too cold.

The tornadoes come and rip us to shreds and leave us without even the slightest understanding of how to pick up the pieces.

Why do we hold so tightly to this world that brings us so much pain and hurt and fear?

I do not understand this.

I long for heaven but fear to be parted from this world, from this body that betrays me and these desires that hold me captive.

Oh, this flesh is a powerful thing.

And the wind comes calling, and its fingers rip the door wide open and shove me down and I am broken but there is One who heals the broken.

And I remember that I need Him, and I cling to Him, and He lifts me out and above the wind and for a moment I understand what he sings.

You can have all this world; just give me Jesus.


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