Famine and Feast

Whiteout

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     I will give them a heart to know me . . . Jeremiah 24: 7a NASB

     I’d prayed, “Lord, show me your face!” 

     Each morning the gold-spun Sunrise had overcome the inner shadows and formidable hills. Even so, nightfall had its way. Doubt, fear, and anxiety crept in again, and I questioned God’s love, mercy, and faithfulness. Nevertheless, He is present in the feast and famine.

     Sometimes, we have to proclaim Truth until we believe it!

     My vehicle was packed with dinner, chicken spiedies and hearty, split-pea and ham soup. It was a meal for tired bones and weary thoughts. I’d chased after three rambunctious boys all day and was longing for a sunny, mid-June cook-out. I needed physical sustenance and spirit-revival. However, as my car climbed our driveway and spit out gravel, I noticed the flurries that had begun to blanket the fields. But a storm wasn’t in the forecast. So, I shook off my misgivings.

     Then again, feasts don’t always go as we’ve planned or imagined. The wind picked up and skies darkened despite the pretty set table and delicious spread. Also, water, words, and tones spilled, and attitudes and opinions were passed with gingerbread and home-made applesauce. There wasn’t time to savor the dessert and our Sunrise wasn’t well-served. 

     I hadn’t expected such a heavy downfall; the storm had become a powerful whiteout. I couldn’t see more than a tire breadth in front of me. So, I prayed, “Lord, just get me home!” 

     Home. Safe place. Warmth. Belonging. Understanding. No judgement. Messes. Clean-ups. Everyone welcome, lovely and unlovable. Underdressed and overdressed. Every meal is a feast. Coffee turns into dinner and dinner to coffee. We work together. Love. Laughter. Tears. Grace.  

     I was desperate for home, to be known and accepted and loved. 

     I crawled home following vanishing tire tracks. I prayed I wouldn’t fall into a ditch or off the side of a mountain. When I crested one small knoll, the road disappeared; and so, I rolled down my window and faced the bitter cold. I slowly inched forward. But I turned left and got off track. 

     I soon realized I’d made a wrong turn. I was on an unfamiliar plateau and fields bordered me. I sought out a dim light in the distance and came upon a small trailer. I honked my horn until a kind man braved the blizzard, helped me turn around, and redirected me back the way I’d come. While I spoke to the stranger, I reached my husband on my cell and gave him my general location. He prayed, and I was soon on the right road. Besides, the whiteout abruptly ended. 

     Show me your face, Lord. 

     You are the beautiful Sunrise, faithful and merciful to shine upon those who need a rescue. We come to You as the orphan, captive, outcast, and stranger, and we find You in the orphan, captive, outcast, and stranger. Long, windy roads and treacherous conditions fortify our faith. The Lord opens our heart to know Him.

     Our Lord is trustworthy! He blankets us with His unconditional love, mercy, and Truth. We are all desperate for home and in need of grace. No whiteout can hide His presence! We are safe in the fiercest of storms. Our Lord goes before us. Peace is possible if we follow in His footsteps.

Seeking Grace,

Lily Mae

     Because of the tender mercy of our God . . . the Sunrise from on high will visit us, to shine upon those who sit in darkness and the shadow of death, to guide our feet into the way of peace.
Luke 1: 78, 79

The Lord Remembered

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But I (Hannah) have poured out my soul before the Lord . . . and the Lord remembered her. 
I Samuel 1: 15, 19 NASB

     The small waif had prayed for a sister. She already had two brothers to tend to when her mother worked. Rules and responsibilities were dished out with her scrappy fists. It didn’t matter that they’d be nine years apart. Braids and ponytails could win a few rounds. Life was a competition, basketball slam dunks, bicycle burn marks, ramps, and Evel Knievel jumps.
     When another brother was born, she put on her best smile and dressed him in doll’s clothes. Her opposition didn’t last. She soon became her brother’s hero, a warrior who defended him. Camouflage bruises matched her mask; however, she didn’t feel a thing. 
     I understood the angst and preparations that Hannah must have made before her yearly trek. Her stomach in knots and nerves short, she most likely dressed with discretion to avoid attention. And she dodged the meddlesome traveler. 
     Questions, comments, and subtle tones often circle with loss and the famine and feast. Loneliness prevails, and trust and confidence dwindle. Who is apt to raise an eyebrow, offer a shaming condolence, or dismiss our thoughts and feelings? 
     Hannah’s mountain climb was hard without the yearlong baggage.
God had closed Hannah’s womb. But she resolved to make the pilgrimage with empty hands. Then Hannah’s husband minimized her hurt and her greatest rival, his other wife, taunted her. Hannah wept in despair and bitterness. She silently begged God for mercy and special attention. Her husband thought she was intoxicated, but she couldn’t eat or drink! 
     Years had gone by. Many festive celebrations had brought more of the same. Pain upon pain. All seemed hopeless . . . her obedience, purpose, and sacrifice. Her heart also slammed shut.
     Hannah no longer wanted to participate. The feast magnified her want!  
And the Lord remembered Hannah. Her resolve to be faithful to the Lord gifts her a son.  
     A sister recalls her prayers, and is grateful for her younger brother who now defends her. A widow grieves her husband’s touch and silent nights. Sunday afternoons are the worst. A single man laments his youth. He’s never had to pack a lunch for another; most nights he eats alone. Likewise, a mother recalls the child she’d once walked to school. His room is spotless. No crumbs to sweep. Suffering makes it hard to join the feast. 
     Our culture, and I dare say our churches, don’t handle the expression of our emotions well. We are inclined to fix, admonish, or distant ourselves from that which makes us uncomfortable. But Hannah wasn’t afraid to be undone before the Lord. She sets an example in her struggle. And she returns her gift to the giver. She dedicates her newborn to the Lord. 
     God fills us with desires and purpose, and He calls us to community and accountability. Let us walk side-by-side.
     Our Lord remembers us. He prepares a feast, fellowship with Him and others.  The invitations have been sent, and the table is set. Will we come?

In this season of unrest, I encourage you to be faithful to the Lord.

Be blessed by Him,

Lily Mae