Untangling

I’m not sure I know what to say today, what to write in this space. Right now I have a lot of voices speaking into my head and my heart, and it feels like almost too much to really distill into something worth writing. I’m still trying to untangle it all.

Untangling my mom’s heart and three stents and all that close unexpected fear. What does it mean for me to have two parents with heart problems? Right now it means I bought egg substitute and have been exercising a little more faithfully. A little more. Baby steps?

Untangling the voice of George Muller’s hardcore faith as I read his autobiography– I love how he talks about the reality of God in this world. He says it is our job as believers to live such wild, on-the-edge faith that the world can see in us that God really is at work right now. What does this mean for me? It’s another piece of this knot in my brain that I’m trying to work free, to braid into words, to work into my daily life and heart. Isn’t that always the challenge?

Untangling my own schedule as we start back into a new semester at school– this is no small challenge after six weeks off. Am I best meeting my kids’ educational needs? What about their personal needs? Their spiritual needs? I feel very weak in this area, and Satan attacks me often with doubt. Will I believe that Jesus is enough in all of this– in my three ridiculously different learners, my own wild schedule, all this balancing of home and family and ministry and friendship and marriage and calling? Maybe it always comes down to this– will I believe enough?

I am untangling the scrunchy, knotted cord that is this evil word cancer. This weekend it took a friend– a woman my own age, with children the ages of my own children. She and I were pregnant at the same time, nine years ago, when I lost my son and she didn’t, and she was so kind to me when I could barely look at her because she had what I did not, and now she is in heaven and I am here on earth and my children have their mother and hers don’t and in the last year and a half my grandmother and my husband’s friend and my friend’s young son have all died of cancer too– and maybe you can see why this particular cord is so very hard to unknot and loosen.

I am untangling what I believe and who I am and all the words that my God says about me, how it’s all going to work and what I’m supposed to be doing with this precious gift of life and these precious people that surround me and each of these days. I am untangling threads of fear and hope and love and anger, threads of anxious nights and wild days, threads of laughter with friends and tears into my Bible, threads of important eternal gold and threads of wood, hay, and stubble.

Some days everything lies flat and smooth and the words come easily, like my daughter’s hair the morning after a good shower and a good long soak in the conditioner, all brushed out and glossy and shining down her back. And some days it’s all this jumbled knot, and the work of untangling it all involves patience and tears and a loving Parent and a whole lot of detangler.

But I believe that all this wild jumble is here for a purpose– a beautiful purpose. I believe in the weaving of my Father, creating a good thing in my life, from my life. I believe that what looks so confusing right now– so chaotic and grievous and complicated– is seen by my God, known by Him, and being braided into place a little at a time.

Today, I don’t see. But I know the God who does.

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