The Peak of Inspiration

In memory of all those that have left us for something better…

For I reckon that the sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory which shall be revealed in us.  Romans 8:18

In a way, words are empty.  Especially written words.  They’re just black spots on an otherwise white paper.  Maybe they don’t have any real power of themselves.  Maybe the power or healing that we chance to find in them comes, not from the words, but from the feeling, conviction, or spirit that motivated the writer to put the pen to paper.  There is no denying the fact that written words do change us.  If you’ve ever read the Bible, you probably know what I mean. 

So, with that thought front and center as I type, I find comfort in knowing that I don’t have to get my words right.  The vocabulary can be average, the punctuation and sentence structure doesn’t have to be perfect.  Because I know what I feel.  I know that my heart hurts these days.  And if I don’t place a block between my heart and my hands, then surely the ones that need love, will receive at least a little.

There is a family in Oklahoma that is in a valley.  And if that family happens to read this, please know, we wish you weren’t.  In the valley.  Things don’t make a lot of sense when you’re down there.  You can’t see far.  The sun doesn’t crest the hill until late in the day, and it doesn’t stay light for long when it does.  I can’t truthfully say that I understand what you are going through.  That doesn’t mean that I haven’t traveled in the shadow of death.  I have.  But everyone’s journey through that valley is a little different.  We all feel pain.  Sometimes it’s our own.  Sometimes it’s shared.  But it’s pain, nonetheless. 

Pain, especially the heart kind, causes a lot of questions.  Seems like we try to reason and come to a place where things start to make sense.  Sometimes we pretend to understand.  We say things like, “this happened so that something else wouldn’t” or “if that wouldn’t have happened where would I be today”.  Perhaps its our hearts way of trying to stop, or at least medicate, the pain. 

Life is a series of tradeoffs.  We are constantly deciding if we should trade one thing for another.  Time for money.  Money for groceries.  Groceries for energy.  A good vehicle for a better one.  The old for the new.  The worn out for the unused.  Some of these trades are easy to make.  The benefit is obvious and well worth the sacrifice.  Some are not so easy.  We take our time with those decisions and weigh the pros and cons. 

And some are just plain tough.  Climbing.  Everest. Tough.  Tough because we aren’t the ones that get to decide.  Tough because we have to live with the results.   Results that look to put us at a loss.  Like we gave everything, and gained nothing.  And maybe our everything wasn’t so much.  But it was something.

And maybe it wasn’t perfect, but it was all we had.  And now we don’t have it.  And we haven’t received anything to take its place.  Nothing except a big hole.  Nothing except tears, pain, and a few memories.

Believe it or not, there is more to the story.  We have received something in return.  And yes, at the moment, they are just written words.  But they were written with love.  And they spell out a promise.  You don’t have to believe it, but that won’t change them. 

God isn’t blind to our needs.  And His ear is open to our cry.  He knew that we would need something in return for all the pain.  Something to make all our sacrifices worth it. 

And so, I offer this to you.  I offer it from where I am, to wherever you are.  It may not seem like a fair trade.  In truth, I’m not the one doing the offering.  I don’t have the resources to back it up.  I’m just passing it along. 

It’s a simple promise.  A promise that there is a tradeoff.  That this isn’t the end.  A promise that what we give will be so much less than what we receive. 

…to give unto them beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning, the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness.  Isaiah 61:3

Believe it.  And hold on.