A Mess of Unraveled Yarn

I've spent most of today with a half-formed blog post in my mind while I successfully avoided grading the papers I promised myself I would grade while I was home.  I'm nothing if not a talented procrastinator.  It's a spiritual gift, really, and I think we should embrace our spiritual gifts.

(Note the sarcasm that translates poorly without its own, specialized font.)

The last question of our Bible study (James:  Mercy Triumphs) this week, in context, was this:

The NASB translates [Acts 15:25], "It seemed good to us, having become of one mind, to select men to send to you."  Few things testify to the presence and power of Christ more vividly than two garlic-strong mind-sets melding into one.  Ephesians 2:14-18 plays the piercing melody beneath the harmony of the letter to the Gentile believers.  [These verses indicate Jesus Christ is the means of their peace.]  How have you personally experience this peace?

Peace is always a difficult one for me.  Salvation?  That I get.  Grace?  I can embrace it tolerably well on special holidays.  But peace?  That's one I can't quite fit in my personal lidded tupperware--even the flexible kind.  And my answer to that question is problematic.  But before I can explain that, here's my answer:

In our current situation, the peace comes from the promise that this will glorify Him.  I am not always on board with what's going on.  I'm not always the biggest cheerleader for events in my own life.  But I know He is good.  And I know He will be glorified.  And whatever the outcome, I can rest in that.

The problematic part of this answer comes in the form of unraveled yarn.  There's no tidying it.  It can't be used for a project.  It's just here, and when I look at it, it looks so completely wasteful.  My heart doesn't embrace it at all, but it embraces the only One who can do anything with it.

When I think peace, I think of people who are comfortable no matter the outcome.  People like Paul--to live is Christ and to die is gain.  But I'm not Paul, and someday I really want to ask him if he penned those words to convince himself or if he truly believed them at that point.

I'm not comfortable with just any outcome.  My heart aches for a family.  Even when I try to convince myself that disposible income and travelling at a moment's notice are incredible alternatives, I know in my heart that this house was built for life and my heart was shaped to love those lives.

I pray that our situation will change.  For miracles.  For continued hope and blessing in the waiting.  But I've never embraced it.  Welcomed it.  Sat down with it to get comfortable.  Mostly?  Because I will never be on board with this mess of unraveled yarn.

But I am on board with Him.  Any sense of peace in my heart and home doesn't come from a comfortability in this situation, but rather a comfortability in God's continued ability to glorify Himself.  That's where I rest.  That's where I find peace--even when I wish for an alternative.

On the previous page, something Beth had written really impressed me:

Afer all our discord, clash, and clamor, we will one day worship in the presence of the One who orchestrated the perfect symphony of two different testaments and, more impressively, a host of clay instruments (36).

 For me, one day is now.  I'm learning to worship Him amid the discord of circumstances, and I'm choosing to remember He is so totally worth it.