settings of silver
On Monday morning, I wake up sore.
Before I open my eyes, a shadowy thought moves through my mind: I can’t do this. I will not be able to do this. The weekend had been consoling and also desolate. On Saturday, Kevin and I had painted walls (renovation!) until our hands and feet felt swollen and bruised, and in the wee hours of the morning, I had scrambled out of bed, awakened suddenly by an alert to give Adam fast sugar for an emergency low blood sugar. My body screamed in pain over the interruption of healing, even as I felt thankful for the warning and the opportunity to care for my son. Stumbling through the darkness and down the hall, I thought, This is those words –alert, emergency, sudden, urgent–as a feeling, because the pain definitely feels like a scream in the dark. Danger makes an awful noise; in my mind, it will forever be the sound of that emergency alert blaring, jarring me awake. I’m weird enough that I wondered, two steps from Adam’s door, what those words would look like as a color–red, like blood, how they would taste–acrid, burning, and then I walked in Adam’s room and immediately he sat up in bed, his arms drawn up as if to shield his face from a coming blow, his mouth in the shape of an ‘o’. I thought, This is those words as a movement, as formed by the limbs, as expressed in the face, and then I went to soothe him.
The first thing I need to do this morning, of course, is to accept the truth: I will not be able to do this. But hidden below that fact I also recognize the lurking lies, specifically that doing this is up to me; that everything falls apart if I can’t; that my strength, or lack thereof, represents a critical factor. I keep my eyes closed a moment more, focusing on breathing, on the warmth of Kevin snoozing beside me. I remember something John Mark Comer said about fighting lies with the truth, and then the Word becomes a sword in my sore hands: The Lord is my shepherd; I lack nothing (Psalm 23:1). His power is made complete in my weakness, so, for Christ’s sake, I delight in weaknesses (2 Corinthians 12:8-10). In Him all things hold together (Colossians 1:17). Blessed are those whose strength is in you, O Lord…they go from strength to strength, till each appears before God (Psalm 84:5,7).
I can’t, but you can. I sit up, swinging my legs over the side of the bed, and breathing becomes a prayer; I exhale I can’t and inhale you can. Today I will spend the afternoon cooking for the week ahead. I flex my hands, thinking of holding the knife, of chopping vegetables, meat. It will be an outpouring, and one I’d like to make with joy. I can’t; you can. Deep breaths.
Reaching for my phone, I immediately see a text from a friend who is also my sister:
Good morning, Your day in the kitchen is God’s domain. Your hands prepare a sacrifice of praise. The aroma delights him. May you know sweet fellowship with Him today.
A word spoken at the right time, like apples of gold in settings of silver (Proverbs 25:11). She could not have known how much I needed these words, which do come to me, falling in my hungry hands, like fresh-picked fruit from the tree of life. But my friend listens and this is what she heard, what she knew she needed to say to me. I clutch the phone against my chest, as if to hug her for the way she responds to God, and then I draw back my arms and open my hands to reread and receive. In four sentences, she has peeled back the temporal shade to show me the truth, reminding me that God is not only with me but King, that in doing this it’s ultimately His pleasure I seek, that all my needy living means sweet fellowship with Him.
I can’t, but you can.
When I hurt, He has promised to be nearer still, or at least to allow me to recognize that’s where He’s always been. I look around the room, taking in the rumpled blankets, the pictures of family, the walls, blue like the sky where it meets the sea. The house sits snug and quiet, still cloaked in sleep. Yes, these are settings of silver.
Slowly, wrapping myself up in the knowledge of grace, I put my feet on the floor to begin.
Today, I will get to see God do what only he can do, and truly, that’s a gift.
