I had some trivial post to send your way last week. But then I couldn't get my trivial pictures to post like I wanted them to.
It was a witty blog, with me having realizations that I somehow am not what I thought I was. And maybe someday I will post it.
Because I write about trivial things sometimes.
But then the unthinkable happened.
And looking back I am so glad I had not posted that blog.
It would have been, really, so-----trivial.
Worthless.
It wouldn't have helped anyone's soul at that point.
See, we lost one of our dear ones. One of my very best friends had to say goodbye to a sister. Nobody saw it coming.
It stopped me in my tracks.
Made everything else, (blog posts especially)-----all very trivial.
I left immediately when I got the news. Immediately after I could see through swollen, bleary, teary eyes, that is.
It was a sorrow like I have never seen or felt before. One that comes from depths you didn't even know you had.
But it was a sorrow for us. The ones who are still here. The ones who still have what we call "today."
Our dear one is with Jesus now; so we do not sorrow for her. We sorrow for us. Which is both a pain and a glory. For "we do not grieve like the world grieves" (I Thess. 4:13), which is our sure and abiding hope, a true and present glory, all the while living in the land of grief's shadow (Psalm 23) and having to deal with the consequences of Adam's sin (Romans 5:12) in all it's indelible sorrow.
Our pain and our hope, it seems, are cut out of the same cloth.
Never so more clearly seen than in situations like this.
And, it's the kind of situation where you want to go and be eloquent. You want to speak words that are a balm, like oil on a wound. You want to offer something that heals, something that comforts. To know what Jesus would say in a time like this. Speak some kind of hope into the situation.
But instead you go and all that stumbles out is, "I don't know what to say......."
And it's the kind of situation where you want to go and be strong for them, so they know they don't have to be. You want to be a fortress for them for a while.
But then you get there and you don't feel strong at all and all you can do is climb onto the bed and weep right along with them. And you feel like the tables turned, and they are comforting you more than you are comforting them.
Grief.
Stricken.
And all your desires to go and somehow make it a little more bearable seem a little more trivial.
So, because while I am on this earth I am still very much "me," in a very "me" way I asked what I can do. Is there anything tangible I can do to help.....something.
"Yeah, you could make me a counter top for our kitchen island."
Even for this project girl that I am that was not what I was expecting.
But yes, yes you dear sweet mother. I would do anything for you. And I will most definitely build you a counter top.
I love this Sweet Mother. I always have. I have known her basically my whole life. She is one of those women who is GENTLE. I remember when I was a kid, when some of her young children were getting out of hand she would never yell. She would never fly off the handle. She would get down on her knees, down to their level, and she would whisper. In the midst of their tantrums or misbehavings or what-have-yous, she would whisper. And it was a miracle: They would always quiet down.
Gentleness.
So yes, Sweet Mother, anything at all you want.
And so we did. Hubbs and I and some of my best friends. We set to work immediately. Working as if we had been given an order by the king.
Sweet mother wanted it, and we would have done anything to give it to her.
In the midst of our measurements and power tools, every once in a while one of us would just break down. And they would stop the sanding. Stop the staining.
And we would pray. And we would cry. And we would pray for them.
Pray because, all of the sudden, what a week before had maybe been viewed by them as a trivial chore (building an island) was now, to us, not trivial in the least.
See, Wolfies, it's not the WHAT you are doing, but it's the WHO are you doing it for that brings purpose or meaning or urgency to something.
I think in life so often we want to do the big things. We want to fly in and save the day. Be that strong person, or that eloquent person. And maybe the Lord has granted that to some of you, to be those things.
But maybe some of you are like me.
Your words stumble out, and you wish you could heal but all that comes, you feel, are your shortcomings. You are so aware that only Jesus can heal and if there ever was a cracked vessel, it was you.
You see yourself and your efforts to save the world and be good and save yourself and help others and you see really how it's all so inadequate.
You are now so aware that you don't have power in you to do that.
Which is probably exactly where we all need to be.
I realized in the midst of all this that maybe I see all my shortcomings because I am looking to me.
I see all that cracks because my eyes are on the vessel.
I know what I want to do in that situation---be the eloquent and strong one---but maybe that's not what HE wants me to do.
Maybe it's important for someone to go and say what I said: "I don't know what to say."
And maybe it's good for someone just to crawl into bed and cry right along with them.
Even if it all feels so much more trivial than you wanted it to.
Because maybe all our things that we do FOR the Lord and FOR the people he has put in our paths aren't so trivial after all. Be them as in-eloquent and un-strong as they were.
Maybe Sweetest Mother needed a project done more than she needed my words.
Maybe the Lord needed me to build something so both of us would find healing around it, both in the building and receiving processes.
If there is anything I know, I know this: The Lord's plans are not ours, and his ways are not our ways.
As humans we want to take eloquent roads, the strong roads.
But he took the humble road. The silent road before accusations. The road that was broken for us, so that we, we cracked vessels would some day be made whole again. He took the road that wept with his mourning friends, and the road that has taken him to build and prepare places in Heaven for those of us whom he has called unto his name.
His ways are not our ways. But his ways are higher, because they are taking us along the same road he walked.
And nothing about that is trivial.
