a season for dwelling

This past season, the Lord has been speaking to me in the loudest & clearest voice I’ve ever known. I, far too often, try to discredit the validity of His voice. I assume it’s my own subconscious behaving oddly or it’s a series of strange events pointing to coincidence. But I’ve heard Him. I’ve heard Him through conversations by a lake, pastors on Sunday mornings, my boyfriend’s jokes, sermons from atop a worn-down stage, poems in leather books, the testimonies of strangers, my family members, letters from another state and the songs I play at night. He has been heard through all the things that color my life, clearing away any uncertainty in what I’m hearing. He has been speaking, uttering the same simple thing over and over again.

“Stay.”

Stay. a verb (used without object)
1. to spend time in a place, in a situation, with a person or group, etc:

He’s telling me to stand still and wait, to dwell in this place with these people for some time. I’ve never been called to dwell before. My whole life I’ve wandered, stretching my experiences across the farthest corners I can find. I’ve spent my life traveling sparatically, following a convoluted path to find Him. But never dwelling, oh no.

Many would think, “That’s incredible, what a blessing it must be, to hear the Lord so clearly that there is not a space left for doubt,” or quite possibly, “What an easy thing He’s asking of you! It would be refreshing to stay put for a while.” Ah, if only it were so simple.

I’ve dwelt here for a year now. My experience with dwelling in this place has brought me the deepest sadness I have ever known. I have found my disposition lost in the midst of grief & anxiety. Don’t get me wrong, my time here has not just been a bleak existance of grey moments. I’ve forged fruitful friendships, become accquainted with spectacular coffee shops, fallen in love, joined an incredible ministry and enjoyed new-found independence in living away from home. But my time here, in moments good and bad, has been permeated with this slinking sort of apathy to what once brought me joy.

To sum it all up, He wants me here but I don’t want to listen. It’s the first time in my life that I’ve so clearly disagreed with the Lord. I feel like a petulant child (because let’s be honest that’s what I am right now) complaining about her Father asking her to some unpleasant chore.

I was reading through scripture recently and stumbled across this passage:

“Hear my prayer, O Lord;
give ear to my please for mercy!
In your faithfulness answer me, in your righteousness!
Enter not into judgment with you
servant,
for no one living is righteous before you.

For the enemy has pursued my soul;
he has crushed my life to the ground;
he has made me sit in darkness like those
long dead.
Therefore my spirit faints within me;
my heart within me is appalled.

I remember the days of old;
I meditate on all that you have done;
I ponder the work of your hands.
I stretch out my hands to you;
my soul thirst for you like a parched land.

Answer me quickly, O Lord!
I have fled to you for refuge.
Teach me to do your will,
for you are my God!
Let your good Spirit lead me
on level ground!”
Psalms 143: 1-10

The words of a king from thousands of years ago spoke straight to my soul. I felt as if I was left for dead in a place I didn’t know with an appalled heart and withering spirit. I too, had my life crushed into the ground. My closeted bitterness reared its ugly head, looking for someone or something to lash out upon. But the scripture doesn’t end in misery or grief. David moves past his grief and acknowledges the Lord as provider and protector.

This passage was an all to real reminder of where I fall short. I have pleaded with the Lord, I have reflected on my own sense of misery but I’ve missed the real point.

I am not promised understanding.

I am promised refuge in Him. I am promised the salvation that comes through the blood of His son. I am promised plans & forgiveness, I am promised a love that does not end when my time on earth is over.

In my dwelling, I am drawing closer to the Lord. I desire the comfort that only my Father can bring to me. The sweetest of joy is made so in the context of bitter suffering. Here’s to growing closer to that triumph.

“You who have made me see many
troubles and calamities
will revive me again;
from the depths of the earth
you will bring me up again.
You will increase my greatness
and comfort me again.”
Psalms 71:20-21