"well it seems that my weakness
is sometimes my only strength
and in my incompleteness
you get your way" - Sixpence None The Richer
Leaves have quietly settled, and the wind has died for the day. The cold sky is as neutral as it is grey. All nature seems to hold and watch for the next move, but I can only offer up questions. I can't know everything, and the path seems only to be revealed underfoot as I faithfully step forward.
Faith is frightening. Trust is slow. Learning that there will be solid ground, even in the fog, has been difficult. How many times will Christ support me in my weakness before I know He is certain? When will I stop imagining shrouded cliffs?
Maybe therein lies the beauty: that I would trace His lines into the wilderness and lean not on my own wisdom and strength. God knows I can't live on my own; my ways have consistently led to folly and pain. And the option to merely survive is not enough. Most are content to settle for survival, and they hand over their hopes for moth-eaten coats to shield them from what could be. Life. Joy. And yes, pain.
What will it take to strip off this insulation? I suppose I could do as the Israelites did: remember the Lord. My memory has always been poor, but concerning matters of the Lord's provision, my memory could not be shorter. If I could keep a memorial in my heart of all that has been done for my protection and blessing, then I might be more thankful. And perhaps aware of my complete dependence. And who better to depend on? For if God is with me, then who will stand against me?
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