I Will Trust

photo-1576504473326-755e6cc0dc78

I will confess somedays I feel forgotten
Seems like You’re hiding Your face from me
I will admit that I wrestle with my thoughts
Struggle with all of the sorrow deep
How long will You leave me here without answers
Crushed by the words of my enemies

But I will trust Your unfailing love
I will rest knowing You’re enough
I will give praise for through all my days
You have been good to me

You have been good
Ever so good
You have been good to me.   ~  Alisa Turner, Psalm 13

 

          It was an end to a beautiful Easter, which came unexpectedly. After the hours of simple yet utterly happy Easter merrymaking, close to midnight, my Muslim boss texted about a change in schedules and a substantial increase in work beginning the very next day. I wasn’t ready for the change. I wasn’t ready for the platform I needed to use; I could barely wrap my brain around it.

          And I needed to be ready by early morning.

          Finally, stressed and worn trying to make sense of the platform, I went to bed at 2 a.m. And struggled to sleep till well past 3. I recited the Rosary in snatches and it was a recitation in tatters. Awakening just a few hours later, with the awful load awaiting me, I didn’t spend time immersing my spirit in the wild rain tossed hours of dawn. It would have been the most beautiful thing to rest in the sweet hush that only rain can bring. But there was a day already in shambles beckoning grumpily. On and on, I stumbled through, till twilight.

          This wasn’t how it was supposed to be, I told Jesus. Not so soon, not the day after. The fall to earth from the heights of utter Easter joy was a rude shock. It wasn’t my boss’ fault, to be honest. Sometimes, that’s just the way things turn out.

          But it hurt me that Jesus allowed it to happen. And that hurt opened the door of acknowledgement of other hurts I had buried a little. It hurt me that the leaders of my country had scant concern for the people. That even in the shadow of death, kleptocracy and callousness showed no sign of abating.

          Mere whisper hours past Easter Sunday, the hurt which I can normally sling over my back and carry on, bit a little deeper than usual. And heaven’s silence since Holy Week, a silence I had peaceably accepted for a week, drew blood today when it seemed like even my guardian angel had fled, seeking other hearts to watch out for.

          Why, Jesus, why? I pressed heaven gently, not in anger nor anguish, but in the tiny hurt of a child, eyes a little wet from a scraped knee. Why wont You speak?

…I feel forgotten
Seems like You’re hiding Your face from me
…I wrestle with my thoughts
Struggle with all of the sorrow deep
How long will You leave me here without answers
Crushed by the words of my enemies…

          Slowly, I became aware of a tiny, still voice singing the song, Psalm 13 by Alisa Turner. It came from the deepest recesses of my being, from depths even I had no permission to enter. But once I heard the song and recognition fell on my heart, I rushed to it, for that song was heaven’s answer to my seeking.

          And in its gentle words, I saw my Angel’s finger pointing out the path that had blurred for a while.

But I will trust Your unfailing love
I will rest knowing You’re enough
I will give praise for through all my days
You have been good to me.

 

 

 

 

 

 

5 comments

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s