I've been reading a lot...ten books over the last two weeks if anyone's counting. Books distract me, let me fall deeply into another world so that I can suspend dealing with my own for a bit. I've been captured lately by a long series chronicling the passionate and devoted love between a man and woman that defies even time itself. Their love inspires me to hold back less of myself from my own. But at the same time, I find myself thinking often about "that man," the main character, and I have to remind myself that "that man" is quite fictional and the love described in the pages of this book was born out of desperate circumstances I'll probably never experience...and created by a woman.
The books aren't Christian fiction, though they have a deeply Catholic, spiritual influence to them. The main characters are Christ figures to each other - pulling each other time and again out of death's grip when no one else could.
Throughout the time before, during, and now after my miscarriage, I've felt God sustaining me, speaking gently to me, and holding me close...tight. But I've wanted my husband to save me. I've wanted his strength to pull me from this - death's grip and breathe life back into me - just like in the book.
My sweet man has been wonderful, taking care of most everything to maintain our home life. I haven't had a care in the world for dishes or laundry or cleaning. You name it, he's done it...and faithfully. In many ways he has saved me...from life...while I was letting go of a life and comprehending death. But he hasn't been my Savior. It's made me mad at times and we've argued over stupid things that I put too much hope in. He's grieving too and has faithfully served me, prayed for me and held me through this. But he hasn't saved me...because he can't.
He has been God's hands to me...touching and holding me through violent pain and terrible, ripping loss. Sometimes we just need physical touch to heal. And I'm convinced that God has held me through your prayers, His Word and my husband's hands. But he's not my Savior...not "that man."
Thankfully, I know who "that man" is. That man who pulled me out of death's grip when no one else could...
"The Spirit of the Lord God is upon me, because the Lord has anointed me to bring good news to the poor; he has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives, and the opening of the prison to those who are bound; to proclaim the year of the Lord's favor, and the day of vengeance of our God; to comfort all who mourn; to grant to those who mourn in Zion - to give them a beautiful headdress instead of ashes, the oil of gladness for mourning, the garment of praise instead of a faint spirit; that they may be called oaks of righteousness, the planting of the Lord, that he may be glorified. They shall build up the ancient ruins; they shall raise up the former devastations; they shall repair the ruined cities, the devastations of many generations."
In my books, the two passionate lovers, husband and wife, are this to each other. Rescuing, breaking out of prison, comforting, giving beauty for ashes...and it's tempting to look at my own husband and ask him, expect him, to play that role - one he was never intended to play.
My main characters walk through fire for each other in a world that just isn't real. I want real...
"If there's a God who would enter humanity to capture the love of a rebel like me...I wanna know His Name, I wanna know that Man. I want to know that Man, I wanna know that Man."
Real is a God Who relentlessly pursued me. Who used all the power of heaven to bend my knee, and my heart, to His free gift of salvation. Real is the Savior Who looks on me and sees lovely because of His great sacrifice. Real is a man who became sin, so I could be forgiven of it. I wanna know His Name.
*********Dear Christa Wells...if you're by chance reading this, thank you so much for your ministry. Your music is ministering to me so deeply during this season of loss, and I loved your recent reminder... "if you hear no music, make music."
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