It may be a ---long--- wait

This morning I was thinking about the pain of not being understood by the ones you love most. The pain of being judged so severely that you are shut out of lives. It's a topic I think about every day.

I'm using a Christian book on eating and fitness as a source for daily devotions, and today's task was to look at a problem situation in a positive light. So I took the pain that I'd stewed in most of yesterday and went back to viewing it the way He does.

Before I moved, I had a pretty good hold on the positive. It was clear that He was directing me to go, right down to the date I was supposed to leave town. I didn't understand why it needed to be so soon, why it couldn't wait until my son started college in the fall. But when His direction is clear, you have to move or live to regret that you didn't. His direction WAS clear, and the last thing I wanted was to be wandering around for 40 years.

(I may not have that long.)

I was confused about the timing and my heart hurt at the leaving. But my hope in the eventual outcome He had in mind was strong. And so I left, to start this new book of my life. And now I am dealing with the consequences of the move, some of which I expected, others of which are surprises.

This morning I thought about the Israelites as they left Egypt. I realized that some of them probably stayed behind, afraid to go when they were called. Angry that their loved ones would be so foolish as to follow a God they could not see, based solely on a series of events which merely seemed miraculous. I imagined their judgments, their sneering harshness, their hurt, their turmoil.

How could they possibly understand such apparent lunacy?

But look at the outcome.

And so I am comforted by the reality of time. I know, despite the moments or hours or days of painful wondering, that time will reveal what needs to be revealed. That light will fall. That the ones left behind, or watching from distant lands, will come to understand and see the beauty of the unfolding.

In the meantime, I wait.

The bitter and the sweet

I'm looking back on a week that has been both bitter and sweet, and thinking about the Passover Seder. Liturgy and ritual are so very satisfying for entering into the richness of God's plan for us.

In this Seder we ceremonially partake of Maror, the bitter herbs which symbolize the bitterness of slavery. When done right (by my book,) the bright sharpness of horseradish makes your eyes water and your nose run. No mild, dull ache for me, but a sudden harsh slap of reality, the pain of which lingers on the tongue.

Later in the meal we dip the matzo in Charoset, a sweet mixture of apples, nuts, and cinnamon.

Still later, we eat matzo with both horseradish -and- Charoset, mixing the bitter and the sweet.

That has been my week; the sharp bite of reality softened by gentle tastes of sweetness. The two co-mingling.

Actually, it's been the tenor of the last few years, the bitter and the sweet dancing in and out, taking turns, intermingling, becoming harder and harder to separate.

Lord, thank you for the sweetness. Thank you for the bitterness. Thank you for the dance.