Are we alone in our confusing small views?
Definitely not!
As a child, I hated thunderstorms (actually, I still
do), but being with my daddy made it better; not
safer, not less rain, not fewer thunderclaps or
flashes of lightning, but better because there was
someone bigger than me who loved me and would
be with me through the storm. Our house could
have still been flooded, I could have still been
struck by lightning, a tornado still could have come
twisting along and taken everything I loved, but my
daddy would have been with me no matter what
happened. That is peace and security. And when
we have those two elements in our lives, we can be
filled with joy, because joy isn’t dependent on our
surroundings and situations. It is dependent on our
trust in our Father. Joy allowed Horatio Spafford to
write, “It Is Well With My Soul” even after he had
lost his business in a fire and heard the news that
his four daughters had been killed by a storm at sea.
Joy allowed martyr women to sing amidst beatings,
rackings, tongue screws, beheadings, drownings,
and burnings at the stake. How? Because they knew
that God held their puzzle piece and had a purpose
higher than their pain and suffering. They knew
that no matter what happened, God loved them
and had something better in store than they could
ever imagine. Joy allows us to smile despite chemo
treatments, a loved one’s death, financial difficulty,
betrayment by a spouse, and our puzzle pieces’
darkest shadows. Joy isn’t a gushy feeling or being
happy all the time, but it is the peace and security
that comes from trust in our Father and allows us to
say, “It is well with my soul.”
Mary asked, “How can I have a child? I’m a
virgin.”
Moses protested, “You want me to be the leader of
a couple thousand people? I can’t even speak well.”
Sarah struggled with the angel’s news: “Have a
child!? I’m old enough to be a great-grandma!”
Naaman was baffled: “I must go swimming in
muddy water to be healed from leprosy?”
Martha wrestled with unfair circumstances: “Lord,
my brother wouldn’t have died if You had been
here.”
Peter was confused: “You can’t be taken, Jesus.
You’re the Messiah. How can You save the world by
being crucified?”
Today is my cousin’s viewing. The funeral is
tomorrow. Thirty years ago, she was dead at the
time of her birth. Hospital staff managed to start
her breathing again; however, it had taken too long
and permanent damage had been done. For thirty
years, she spent life in a human shell, needing to
be fed through tubes and unable to speak or do
anything for herself. We believe she could hear and
understand more than anyone realized because she
would often make laughter noises when something
humorous was said or cry when in pain. Do thirty
years of her pain, entrapment, and helplessness
make complete sense to me? No, a thousand times,
no! But that is because all I can see is a tiny piece of
the puzzle.
One day, our pieces will all fit perfectly and we will
be brought together as the Puzzle-Maker unveils the
finished puzzle; a picture so beautiful that no words
will be adequate to describe it. We’ll understand
those dark spots and see that there truly was a
purpose in each tone, color, shape, and character of
our puzzle piece. But for now, we can take joy in the
small glimpses God gives us each day as He lifts the
corner of the sheet covering the puzzle and allows
us to enjoy a child’s giggle, a rainbow, a promise
from His Word, a hug, a song on the radio at just
the right time, a tree’s rebirth after a long winter.
How can we be filled with peace, joy, and security
even though it is natural to be filled with worry,
bitterness, and frustration?
The first step is to let go of our puzzle piece.
Whether we are puzzle-smashing or puzzle-hiding,
it is because our fingers are grasping onto the piece
so tightly that our knuckles are turning white.
Sing with me, “Let it go, Let it go!” It seems like a
contradiction that by opening our fingers, we gain,
but that is the way God planned it to be. When we
give our piece to God, we have security and peace
knowing that He will put the picture all together
perfectly, and one day, He will show it to us. That
does not mean the dark colors will go away, but it
does mean that we now have Someone Who will
hold our hand.
As my cousin, Judy, is finally able to walk and sing
for the first time in thirty years, I think she has been
shown a little of the meaning to her puzzle piece.
I still do not know very much about my puzzle
piece, but every day, the Puzzle-Maker holds my
hand, fills my heart with joy, and gives me glimpses
of the puzzle’s beauty. And that is enough! |
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