A voice was heard in Ramah, weeping and loud lamentation. Rachel weeping for her children; she refused to be comforted, because they are no more. Matthew 2:18
In the past few days, I experienced two miracles, two God winks, two moments in time so tragically sweet, so unlike the miracles I pray for, but all the same, I believe they were the Lord, hearing my persistent cries and answering not as I desire, but as he so pleases.
I have found myself in a long season of lament; grief over loss and betrayal and the sorrow of my own sin peppered through my days, while I drifted away from the foot of the cross. In my hysteria to fix what was wrong by my own might and understanding, I took my eyes off the only solution there ever was; a quiet solution that comes in wrappings that don’t make sense, nor seem effective to my small thinking. I am certain I made Many months ago, he began to free me from the mess of my own naive choosing, yet I fought against his liberation that meant giving up what I loved. And in his goodness, he answered my prayers for a community of godly women to wage this war with, in prayer, in accountability, in steadfast love. My sin was deep, and my pain deeper still from a betrayal that harmed my soul; thus I lament. These dear women and I, praying without ceasing, digging into God’s word daily, hungry for his way, for renewal of mind, and goodness to win. Weeping as Rachel over the innocence lost, demanding to know why this was necessary, why God had not intervened and put an immediate end to all the suffering. We lift up men and women caught in sin and addiction that they be released and learn to disciple and protect the innocent, we lift up these children that they should have their eyes fixed on the Lord, we ask for our hearts to be renewed and our own eyes to be fixed on the Lord; yet the assaults of the enemy have continued, growing louder as we fight him with our hands lifted high and our scriptures wielded as a weapon and defense.
In this growing and sweet community, there is so much pain to pray over and bring to a mighty and capable Lord, but his ways are not our ways nor his thoughts our thoughts and our petitions go up daily and yet there seems no response. I have allowed the weight of these struggles my sisters and I bear to lay heavy on my heart. As I finished a prayer for a dear sister I have not seen nor spoken to in ten years, I see that she had called me, and for hours we caught up and shared each other’s burdens and brought them to the Lord who had released us from a hell on earth we walked through a decade prior. We find ourselves once more in suffering. And in her authenticity, she implored me to write once more, encouraging me to not allow the enemy to steal my words, to remind me of my shame, my unworthiness to share the work that God has done and will carry on to completion. She reminded me that the words I have written over the years, God inspired, have been healing to her, and to others. Who am I that the God of the universe would pluck the heart of my sister so many miles away, at the very time when she and I with all our duties could find quiet to share our burdens and fix our eyes once more on the one who restores?
And yet, the strongholds that hold those who would bring harm to myself, to my sisters in Christ seem unrelenting. The heartache, the seeming victory of the enemy over these lives we bring to God in prayer and praise for the work we trust he will do, is unending. My prayers have shifted from polite requests that God intervene, to demands that he who is able would show up and show off in splendor and majesty and bring about redemption for relationships and lives stuck in bondage. And as I cried out a few years ago for a kitten in the dead of night, and God answered me, he answered me immediately once more. Tears streaming down my face as I drove to an acupuncture appointment, hoping to unload my sorrows before returning to my children, I became angry with God. He sees the devastation taking place. He sees these women, so sincerely pursuing him day in and day out, eyes fixed and waiting for him, taking each new blow as a reason to bring their knees to the floor and lift high their hands in praise and prayer…and yet he is silent. “Why won’t you show up already?! Enough of this suffering, God, show up in a big way that is unmistakably you!” As the words left my mouth, the salty tears pickled my face, one of these dear sister warriors heard his prodding and reached out to me with a godly reminder that God gives good gifts and that often the wrapping he presents them in is horrible, unsightly, but the contents are endurance, patience, longsuffering, refined love, wisdom, and most importantly proximity to himself. Her words were layered with the unsolicited prayers and messages of two other godly sisters pouring light and life and truth into me. How could they have known, but for their faithfulness to a God who hears? I shared with them the timeliness, and admitted that as striking as it was that God did show up in these faithful women, it was not enough, it did not feel like it was enough. I wanted God to show up loud and glorious, redeeming lives and souls one by one in a wave of revival, unapologetically showing off his grandeur, his might, his goodness.
But here we come again to the ways of the Lord, his might made manifest in the tender form of a helpless babe. Our Savior had come not with trumpets ablaze, and a swift sword of righteousness. Jesus came as an infant that were I to have laid eyes on him as he lay in the manger, would I know that this was the Messiah with unwavering conviction or would I find him endearing and yet walk away unconvinced that this child would save mankind, would save me? Had I held his small frame and heard his coos would my life be forever changed, lived without faltering in my faith? The Savior of the world did not come and transform this sinful world into a haven of faith filled saints. No, he came quietly, unassuming, vulnerable, and the glorious coming brought death and torment as evil raged against its numbered days.
Herod, angered that he had been tricked by the wise men, called for all of the two year old male babies in Bethlehem to be slaughtered. The coming of our Lord, while joyous and peaceful did not prevent the slaughter of many innocent babies, there was no soothing of weeping and loud lamentation for innocents who are no more. The birth of Christ did not bring immediate healing and liberation from the strongholds of sin or evil influence. This is frustrating for those of us who want to see immediate and big results.
It has taken me 38 years and much suffering to truly celebrate Christmas. As I type these words, more tears flood down, not from depression or loss of these past months. It is not the quiet and empty house on Christmas day, that I longed to have been flooded with children and laughter and goodness that moves me now. It is my Lord, my Redeemer who knowing the wholeness of my own depravity, he came quietly and softly and bore the weight of the world, of which I bear only the smallest fraction of and yet it crushes me. It is in the quiet of my despair and my clinging to his cloak that he tenderly reaches down and provides the everyday miracles of redemption in his timing, the momentary miracles through the obedience of his saints where he reaches down and touches my face to remind me I am his beloved. He is a mighty God and yet he demands that we strain our ears to hear him, silencing the noise of distraction and temporal longings. “Incline your ear, and come to me; hear, that your soul may live.” (Isaiah 55:3)
I will continue to pray boldly for big miracles, for bondage to be broken, for generations to be bent towards the Lord. I will pray through tears, through anger, through suffering, through disappointment, and I will know that I am in good company, with the helpless babe who grew to be the Savior for sinner’s slain.
*Read Isaiah 53 to learn how deeply Christ relates to our sufferings
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