Darkness bites cold before morning comes.
Red tail lights glow as the car winds away, out of the mountains, and on to other places. My heart beats the rhythm of the slow descent, ears pounding and throat tight.
Stretch marks of the heart pull red-hot. I wave until the sound of the engine is gone and tail lights disappear, just incase they turn to look. And mama-tears release the heart ache of settling silence.
Father, You stand so near to each of us. We can see You, if we are looking. For me, there is unequaled comfort in knowing You stand watchfully caring.
Let all who take refuge in You be glad;
Let them ever sing for joy.
Spread Your protection over them,
That those who love Your name
May rejoice in You.
Psalm 5:11
And I turn to walk into my packing day with heart ache. And hope.
Father, You have given. You are taking away. Blessed be Your name.
I will praise You forever
for what You have done;
in Your name I will hope,
for Your name is good.
Psalm 52:9
Everything we have lived as "normal" is no more.
Everything.
Empty of normal.
I search for something not changing. Through tear streaked vision, I notice rocks in our yard.
The Rock. That is You, Unchanging Lord of the Harvest. And You remind me of another You named "rock" and an obedience that made no sense and a harvest. (John1:35-42)
Simon Peter was a disciple of John the Baptist first. Then he met Jesus. He believed Jesus and became His disciple. He was at the marriage feast when Jesus performed His first miracle. Sometime after that, Peter returned home to normal, to fish with his family.
One morning, Peter stood on shore work-weary from a disappointing night of fishing with his family. They washed empty nets.
That's when Jesus stepped into his boat.
Jesus asked Simon Peter to row Him out from shore so He could continue to teach a crowd of people. Peter obeyed. This first act of service to his Lord was to row an empty boat, an act that was second nature to him. Peter understood boats. And water. And fish.
Jesus taught and when He finished, He asked the work-weary Peter to throw his empty, already-cleaned nets over the side of the boat. Even Peter questioned this request. It made no sense to a seasoned fisherman. Only at night do fish rise to the surface for food. Daylight was not the time to catch fish. (Luke 5:1-11)
Unless Jesus says to fish.
Peter answered and said,
"Master, we worked hard all night
and caught nothing,
but at Your bidding
I will let down the nets."
Luke 5:5
Father, when I am weary with empty, You step in. And You guide me with a lesson taught by Elizabeth Elliot: "Do the next thing." So, I do what You shed light on . . . wash dishes, pack a box, laundry, paint a room. I do the next thing. Water plants. Sweep.
The next thing.
Clean out another shelf.
Pack another box.
Write.
Return phone calls.
The next thing.
Eat.
Drink a moment in Your Living Water.
Put a verse in my pocket.
Plant seeds in the garden for someone else to enjoy.
Do the next thing.
Praise You for the day.
Cook a meal.
Wash more dishes.
Welcome unexpected visitors.
Listen.
Provide a bed for the weary guests.
Do the next thing.
Sleep.
You asked Peter to do what he knew to do. Cast nets. Father, thank You for reminding me to do what I already know how to do, even with stretch marks of the heart pulling red hot.
When Peter cast the nets, there was such a great quantity of fish harvested that the boat began to sink. An unprecedented harvest. Peter fell at the feet of Jesus, realizing Jesus had power over nature itself. And Peter asked forgiveness as a sinful man . . .
Father, You asked Peter to cast his nets into what he thought would be empty of normal. And an incredible harvest occurred. Forgive me when I live "empty of normal" and begin to doubt Your methods . . . and thank You for Your joy that fills me when I obey You. (John 15:8-11)
Take our emptiness and fill it with Your harvest.
Dear reader, may we walk closely with Jesus
when He leads us through empty of normal . . .
knowing His harvest, through our lives cast
upon His mercy and goodness and lovingkindness,
is yet to come.
May God be glorified.
Love always,
Angie
