Help

This morning I sit, window beside. Golden light streams over the mountain crest, through wispy tendrils of willow. Birds sing their morning song. Promises of what the new day can hold are before me.

And I am sour. Stale.

Having steeped in my own complaining the night before, the hardness of my heart is like a shell. I feel tight. The delight of fasting escapes me. All I can do is long for things I cannot have and complain of all I do. “Really, manna again?” I find myself longing for old things, old ways, knowing somewhere in my heart that these must pale in comparison to my God, to what He is doing. But they don’t, not right now.

Because right now He is at work in me, in this ungrateful heart, and revealing things I am not proud of, which I guess is the point. Unbelief. Complaint. Worry. Absence of trust. Lack of love. This is me. I know that there needs to be change. But it seems overwhelming. It seems impossible. It seems too hard.

The beauty of the nearness of God is not the same. It seems hidden. He is teaching me a new way. I do not like it.

So I am stalled at a crossroad.

In this early hour I turn, more out of duty than love, out of obligation than obedience, to the Word. Today it is like bitter medicine: I know it is good for me but it is hard to take.

Bright eyes peek over my computer screen.

He is eager to try out his new skills. He is full of joy, excitement.

“Mommy, see, see, see!”

Caleb collects all the elements to make himself breakfast. I have taught him carefully, and though he has not mastered it, I have released him. He can do it all by himself. Even then, cinnamon on a high shelf, to which he shimmies up cabinetry like a little monkey. He can do it all. Except to get the bowl. He asks me for help. “It’s like teamwork, Mommy.” Whoops, some sugar spills over. He starts to clear it himself and thinks twice. “Can you clean up the sugar for me? You can do it now, if you like.” I set my things aside and partner with him. He shakes a nearly empty milk container. He asks for advice and I oblige. Bowl full, he shuffles his feet slowly—inch by inch, tiny step by tiny step. “Balancing.” Making his way to the table with great care. “Can you move the laundry off the table for me please?” He sits down to partake of this morning feast, which he has prepared.

All by himself. With help.

I realize the source of my misery. I have been trying, striving. Working hard to get rid of bad habits. Wrong thoughts. Wrong ways. Trying to live rightly, holy. All by myself. And with every independent effort I am confronted with the ugly truth: I cannot do it. Not just me, not alone. This new way He is teaching me is the way of dependence. Complete dependence upon Him. “God blesses those who are poor and realize their need for Him, for the Kingdom of Heaven is theirs.”

I glimpse Him. He is near.

I ask for help.

I am tired. I am weary. I am failing. I have been trying to overcome without leaning on the Overcomer. I need You. Help me, Holy Spirit. I cannot do this without You. Teach me. Show me the way. I need You.

Sunlight streams in through the window now, warming my shoulder, highlighting a hungry mouth devouring in delight. My heart feels warmer.

I am hungry, too.

I turn back to my Bible. Pray about everything. Tell Me what you need. Thank Me. You will experience My peace, peace that guards your heart and mind. Fix your thoughts on good things, things that are pure, lovely, true. Practice what you have learned and received. Then My peace will be with you.

A way. The Way. And in this extraordinary partnership, His greatness and my great need, tiny step by tiny step, I move forward.

It is a new day. And it is going to be beautiful.

With help.