Washed by the Water

I discovered a peaceful perch last week when issues surfaced, requiring hard conversations and vulnerability. Not long before Don and I left to meet with ones we hold dear, I sat on the end of our kitchen table, as close to the picture window as I could, and swung my legs like a little girl.

After filling my favorite cup with coffee this morning, I wondered where to enjoy its warmth. Since weathermen had predicted snow at one point this weekend, I opted for my new perch on the table. With my nose almost touching the glass, I stared at the dismal grey sky, hoping for a wintry mix.

It didn't even rain.

 But I enjoyed swinging my legs like a school girl, transforming my table into a place of childlike wonder, where trust comes easy and nerves calm. 

The view from my perch.

While the Bible clearly states that truth sets us free, facing said truth can stir the deepest kind of emotion. Especially when different perspectives bring different truths to the same issue. I'm not trying to go all fifty shades of grey here. But to heal from relational pain, one must often step out of their perception and consider another's point of view. 

Grievous wrongs exist. Most certainly. And they require divine grace to forgive. 

But offenses often occur through misunderstanding and lack of information. When we step out of our personal fortress and leave behind our arsenal of self protection, hard conversations can change and heal our wounded hearts.

Our blended family has gone through a lot in the last eight years. I like to think we've all been climbing the same mountain from different sides. The views, while similar, have been varied. But we're arriving at a plateau high above the clouds, finding the same vantage point.

And it's good. 

The climb has challenged me to the core. And there have been times I wanted to give up. To turn back. Seriously. My legs tire on level paths, let alone mountainous inclines.

But the view from where I stand today takes my breath away. Because I'm all the more in awe of God's mysterious plan and purpose in the climb. 


He needed me stronger. More pliable, surrendered, and trusting. I've got a lot more to learn. So perhaps I'll drink more coffee on my perch, swinging my legs like a child. 

"And he said, 'I tell you the truth, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven, Therefore whoever humbles himself like this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven.'"


When family strife was ripe a few years ago and my tears wouldn't stop one Friday night, my youngest son walked in. I explained the recent issue and told him to go over to my sister's to hang out with his cousins; that I would be OK after a good cry. 


Before he left, he told me I needed to hear a song. I listened to it over and over that night, amazed at the timely lyrics. The music played in my head again this week. All through Thursday night and into the morning. 

I left early Friday, still singing the chorus, and ten minutes down the road felt an inner nudge to listen to music. Instead of playing a CD, I turned on the radio - a very rare choice for me - and after about ten seconds of talk, this very song began to play. 

My favorite part?

"Even when the rain comes. Even when the flood starts rising. Even when the storms come. I am washed by the water."

At the end of the day, I'm fairly certain Jesus said we must humble ourselves like children so we can accept a washing from the storm and His purpose in painful climbs with greater ease. Adult rational demands much. A childlike heart accepts with surrender.





photo credit: Raw Espresso Walnut Brownies via photopin (license) photo credit: Transient light in highlands via photopin (license) photo credit: Victorious via photopin (license)