Walk

The Tsunami is coming. I can almost hear the roar of the wave screaming in my ears but I’m just too exhausted to care. I stand on the shore watching the water recede toward the ominous horizon. I’m not even paralyzed here, I’m just done. I don’t have the energy to fear the oncoming black, the swirling sweeping suffocating memories. I know they are coming. Maybe I’ve just finally realized that there is nothing I can do about it.

When I was a teenager I spent part of several summers building church buildings in Mexico. I’ve never worked so hard in my life. We literally mixed cement on the ground with shovels. We hauled and stacked cinderblocks, we laid mortar and it was HOT. We did it all under the scorching Mexican sun. In the evenings we would gather for devotions and to hang out. I only vaguely remember these times. Not because I didn’t want to be involved but because my brain just couldn’t grasp ahold of anything through the sheer exhaustion. This is a little like that.

My counselor mentioned something the other day that lodged itself in my brain, sort of like a long lost memory that you know you know but just can't grab from the back of your mind. When she said it it struck a chord. I’ve been chewing on it ever since and I have a feeling it will evolve so as my grief evolves. As always with the Word, there’s a lot of truth to find. 

  

She said that it strikes her that when Jesus healed he said “get up and walk.” Well, yeah, you’ve been paralyzed so now that you are healed you should get up and walk, duh. But it’s really not that simple. Many of the ‘paralytics’ Jesus healed had never walked, or at minimum hadn’t walked in a long long time. He told them to do something that seconds before had been impossible.

Put one foot in front of the other. Walk.

She pointed out that Jesus has already healed. He’s omnipresent, it’s preordained. I was chosen before the foundation of the world. As far as He is concerned it is DONE. Now, He’s walking me to it.

Just keep walking baby girl. One foot in front of the other, that’s all I ask. Just keep walking.

After all, at minimum my faith is a walk. In full throttle abundance it’s a full tilt run. Just keep walking.

So this week, I shuffle along the shore clinging my mustard seed to my chest. In the dim light the tiny seed is nearly impossible to see, what with my crappy vision, but I can feel its hardness, its roundness, its texture. To my surprise all these characteristics are deeply familiar to me… and until now I didn’t even realize I carried this little thing, clasped tightly in my hand.

If you have faith as small as a mustard seed, you can say to this mountain, ‘Move from here to there’ and it will move. Nothing will be impossible for you. – Matt 17:20