A Double Portion

I've watched another dream disappear, another desire be unsatisfied; an another almost hope, deferred and crushed. With violence and force, what I thought was a beautiful blessing, became another weapon, ripping at an already fragile heart. I cry out, "I thought this was my proof of Your love. I thought this was Your goodness for me, how did I lose it? Was it me, the world, or You that crushed my bones and broke my heart? How long with I receive a lesser portion?"

Back to start, square one, more broken, scorned, forgotten than ever. An orphan with their nose pressed against the window, breath fogging up the glass against the bitter cold. Someone looks out from the revelry happening inside. Their eyes meet mine, hope surges as they smile, then slowly shut the drapes. My head and heart fall, dejected yet again. I pray I may one day understand why I wasn't invited in. What's my great flaw, my great deformity?

As I turn to go, the door opens and I watch You, the Guest of Honor walk out. You don't invite me in, but join me in my walk home with me.

My lesser portion still hurts. My stolen heart still aches, but it's less lonely. I muse, how long will I stay here? How long will I be rejected, scorned, unlucky? When will my curse lift, my karma change, my talisman work?

You offer no easy answer, no promises that satisfy. The usuals aren't working, platitudes only bringing ironic pain as I believe them less and less. There is no word that will cure, no hope that will heal right now. There is no magic pill. Rejection and loss have a nasty way of seeming permanent and consuming. Some messages are just that powerful. Fighting them is futile.

So You don't. In Your infinite wisdom You know enough violence and rendering has occurred. Don't convince me, don't plead, argue, yell or patronize. Just walk me home. Just hold my hand as the tears silently stream. Just leave the party to sit as I belaboredly breath through another death, another loss, another wound.

You ask no hope, no faith, no great joy or display of wisdom from me. Somehow You would rather be with my depression than a hundred drunken fools. It's not the healthy that need a doctor.

You and I both know only time will show me who the victor really will be. You seem sure its You, I fear hoping for a happy ending. Seems more safe to settle for surety of disappointment. The current circumstance would appear to be p keeps my heart bleeding for more, back up Your version of truth.

You know I'm stuck between the power of the two messages. A reality of loss but a reality of blessing. In my lack of faith I ask You not to get my hopes up. Don't promise what You can't or won't deliver. My doubt doesn't seem to bother You. Well it bothers me. It doesn't fade You, but scares the hell out of me. I want a hope, a faith, a peace, but I can't seem to muster them. I'll just stay stuck if You don't mind.

As we sit outside in the misty, wet, cold night, we can both still hear the party raging inside. I look at You, tears in my eyes, angry confused, and lost. You pull me against You. I bury my head in Your neck as I cry harder, feeling every bitter emotion. Memories flash, waves of loss crushing, rolling, building momentum. I sob harder and harder, feeling my stomach roll with the pain, the rejection, the loss, the betrayal, all seeping from my pores, pain being pulled from my very bones and marrow. I find myself mumbling "No, no, no...." hoping if I deny it enough, the loss won't be real. I feel myself fight against a reality I can't control, don't understand and and feels so undeserved, unfair. I pound Your chest and rock, hating every second of my cursed existence, wondering what's the point of ever hoping for more.

"Don't ask me to have faith!" I yell. "Don't ask me to believe You want to bless! How can I?!"

As I begin to calm down, the emotions exhausting themselves and me, I still feel my stomach churn with hurt, stress and fear. After a few moments of letting me calm, I hear You take a breath, about to speak. I cringe instinctively.

I find myself surprised by Your words, neither comforting, nor painful. Truth is funny that way.

"Your not the first to come here. You're in good company. You have more faith than you know, right now is the proof. Hope will come, joy will come, understanding will come. Your bleeding, open, my enemy looks victorious. But we never stay in the grave, we don't know how. I'm proud of you."

I pause. You wait.

"This is what You meant when You said 'portion' isn't it? It's not the party, the celebration, the happiness. When You said 'portion' You meant right now, when I am ravaged by life and You choose to leave the festivities to join me, a disillusioned soul."

You look back at me, silent as that truth sinks in. You know there are still questions.

"Will it always be this way? Will we always be in survival mode?"

Without any condemnation, but infinite compassion, You simply ask back, "Would it matter right now?"

Immediately I know, no, it wouldn't. Not right now. However blessed I am tomorrow, today hurts. However good or bad yesterday was, this moments brings all the fear, the pain, the past into focus. You will be sovereign either way. But pain or joy, my portion will not change. My peace is decided, my heart solicited, even in its blind, hurting, ungracious state.

I may be rejected, cursed, scorned or unblessed, by my standards or the worlds standards, but my portion is mine. Nothing can take away the decision of the Guest of Honor to honor me. In my anger, hurt, depression, fear, doubt and hopelessness, He has come to comfort and mourn with me. He consoles and counsels me and simply waits for my heart to come home. My vision askew, my mind confused, my eyes blinded by tears, I am chosen and honored. His goal is eternal, my heart and soul for His. That's my unfailing portion.

The amazing grace and rescue is His choice and purpose to build my faith. As the walls of Jerusalem were built slowly, over time with setbacks and hardships, His patience, confidence and persistence build my walls. My lack of faith is no surprise, in fact it's the reason and purpose. Grace must wound and as I am wounded, I feel His grace through the pain. His intention and love are expressed as part of the purpose, building a deeper faith and understanding, a greater intimacy and a more real experience of my portion.

As I come full circle, still feeling deep, deep pain, I realize the walls are being built, my table is set my portion served and it is double. I am the miracle, the work of His hand, the party, and He is my faith, my hope, my heart and my reason when I have none. He wounds to bandage, tears to heal and crushes to build. He went to the party as the Guest of Honor to find me, knowing I would be rejected. He went to leave, to walk me home. No one else may know, but I do and once again, that is a double portion. This is what it looks like to roar, to be concerned and careful with my heart and to come capture it. This is what looks like to trust, to believe, to open and build intimacy. This is what it looks like to heal.

"And behold, a woman who had been suffering from a hemorrhage for twelve years, came up from behind Him and touched the fringe of His cloak; for she was saying to herself, 'If only I touch His garment, I shall get well (or be saved).'

But Jesus, turning and seeing her said, 'Daughter, take courage; Your faith has made you well.' And at once the woman was made well." - Matt 9:20-23