I Called You Here

My mother loved Christmas. When I was still small, my father didn't understand why she should go so overboard with all the presents and the tree and the cookies. He never had much of that as a child, and he didn't think we needed it either. I'm sure we didn't need it. But my mother worked hard every year because she wanted so much for us to have it. We always had a fresh Christmas tree. And she, who hated to cook, spent all that time making cookie dough from scratch (different colors and everything) and helping us decorate ALL those cookies! She must have spent hours wrapping and arranging gifts under the tree every Christmas Eve, some of the more impressive ones left unwrapped to up the surprise factor early on Christmas morning. I remember the time I got a little kitchen of my own. Oh, what joy!!! 

When I was older, she taught me the art of beautiful gift wrapping, and even how to make my own bows. She took such care on each present, to make sure it was perfect. For all the things she thought she couldn't do well, she truly excelled in the area of gift giving. Not just the presentation was spectacular; the gifts themselves were carefully and thoughtfully chosen. She always knew just what to get for each person that they would truly love. I believe her love language was gift giving. I loved that about her. She taught me so much about compassion and thoughtfulness. She knew how to make people feel special, because they WERE special to her. 

Now that she's gone from me, the approach of Christmas has been especially difficult. I don't even remember the holidays last year. She died on November 14th, and by the time Thanksgiving and Christmas arrived, I was still in  shock mode. Even if you know it's coming, there's no way you can ever be prepared for a loss so huge. So somehow this Thanksgiving felt like the first. And this Christmas definitely feels like the first, even though I have lived without her for over a year. I have dreaded it, been angry at everyone else's joy, slept through days of pure despair. Last week, I cried through the entire worship time at church and couldn't bring myself to open my mouth to sing a word until the middle of the very last song. If you know me, that should explain it all.

I think my biggest struggle through this season of depression  has been my inability to feel the presence of God. It seemed as though my anger was an obstacle between me and my Father, and I didn't know how to get around it to get to Him. I wasn't even sure who I was really angry with, but I suspected that it was God.  Because I couldn't hear His voice or feel Him close to me, I believed that I had caused this distance between us. So along with sorrow and anger, there was guilt too. What to do with that when you barely have the strength to get out of bed some days?

But then God....aren't those the best three words ever? But then God spoke to me, gently and softly, the words I was only now ready to hear, through a song I had sung to Him at least a hundred times. "You call me out upon the waters/the great unknown, where feet may fail," it began. And as soon as I heard the words, I heard Him speaking. "I called you here," He whispered. And that was all. And it was enough. And here is what He meant.

I have spent so much time trying to get away from this pain. If I close my eyes and picture this place I am in right now, it is dark. It is excruciatingly lonely. It is empty. There is nothing but sorrow and no one on earth can fully understand, and I have hated it. I have felt for months now that I should be better by now. I should be closer to the other side of it. I should be living again, and I just can't. What is wrong with me, I have wondered. Why can't I just feel better? And in the few words of this song, He showed me.....I was never meant to run out of this dark place; I was meant to journey through it. This is a place in which I was meant to find Him. HE called me here. He has been here in the darkness with me, waiting. Patient. Heartbroken Himself and mercifully silent. My heart has been too broken to touch. The smallest kindness has shattered me at times, and He knows.

I trusted Him when He told me it was time to bring my mom home with me and care for her.  I trusted Him then, knowing that I would lose her. I trusted Him when it was time to let her go to Him. I loved her with my whole heart, knowing she couldn't stay. It was then that He called me, and I followed. And now I must trust Him still, with this pain only the Savior who lives in me can know. I have to stop running from it and run toward it, because He is calling me. 'Spirit, lead me where my trust is without borders.' That is what I have asked Him to do, and He has done it. Now I must follow. Though feet may fail and fear surrounds me, He's never failed, and He won't start now.

Oceans (Where Feet May Fail)