I know He is near, and the fog clears

A dear friend, who seeing need in me, gave me a book yesterday called Streams in the Desert, a classic devotional. This morning, it being Monday all day and this weekend being what it was, I grabbed it and read from it, like living water in the dryest of lands.

Stuck away there was a bit of a bit of a poem that seemed to speak to me, so I share willingly:

Let us go singing, then, and not go crying:
Since we are sure our times are in His hand,
Why should we weep, and fear, and call it dying?
It's merely flying to a Summer Land.

For daily readers, and I believe those forlorn creatures are still out there, one might have noticed I didn't write Thursday or Friday. That's unusual, apart from the occasion vacation (not nearly enough of them, thank you). Truth is (and I give way, way too much of that away on this blog as I'm about to do) I was simply overwhelmed.

Health: They're still trying to figure out why I have bouts when I don't get enough oxygen to my brain and why I get loopy. Pitched softball for four innings of a youth game Wednesday night, and by the middle of the night all thy way through Friday morning I was, literally, breathless and quite listless and quite, well, loopy.
Family issues: About the same time a family issue popped up that my mind and my heart had great difficulty dealing with. The darkest nights of the soul often involved family, do they not?
Finance: Thought it was good a month; it wasn't. It isn't. And fear about our rental home continues to escalate despite all I know about what worry is and shouldn't be.

So, well, so ...

I began to notice, late Friday after my wife Mary and I prayed together long and somewhat tearfully about much of the above that the presence of God was more real to me than in a long time. A long time. A long, long time. One could, probably truthfully, point out that I had no where else to turn so of course He would be felt. And the truth is I was more susceptable to listening because I was talked out.

But it was more than that. It was truly Him saying to me in all but audible words that He was with me. It was the beginning of me humbling myself, or allowing myself to be humbled, to the point where what I needed most could come. It was Him reminding me that I had made some wrong decisions (again), and those decisions always come back to haunt no matter how much we pray them away (or try to).

But He was with me. Mistake-filled, though I am. Failing though I might be, He is with me. HE. With ME. What a development.

We had a very tiring wedding Saturday, after an incredibly long Friday of work that included a very tiring rehearsal. I was whipped by 5:30 p.m. Saturday, physically, emotionally, mentally (if there is more, that too was whipped). But we still had a concert at another of my churches. I cleaned the church, repositioned everything for Sunday after having special configuration done for the wedding, removed the tie, cleaned and put away things to the garbage all around and outside the church and against my body (and mind's) wishes, headed to Church Point, La.

Somewhere during the concert, during a song the singer/songwriter said God "gave" her as she drove away from the scene of where her daughter had tried to commit suicide, I felt God very, very literally resting his hand on me. A weight. A good, good weight. On my shoulder. I absolutely felt God telling me that though everything in the world might sit on their on my shoulders right next to his hand, and in this month of October the weight has been enormous, I was not alone. He let me know that He has overcome the world I live in daily, so why was I concerned. I put my hand on Mary's shoulder, and she turned briefly. I believe I saw a tear, though I could see that well through my own.

Every single day for about six weeks I've felt I was failing miserably in my church work because of problems that arose. Every day. Can you imagine feeling that every decision you make will be second-guessed, maybe rightfully so? Can you imagine? My confidence, my trust of humanity, my health, my faith even, has been chipped away. Heck, I ain't that strong to being with, no matter what others think. So, imagine the puddle left outside the door on this rainy season.

And in a song, in a moment, in a breath (Holy Spirit-wise I'm sure), He told me that I'm not alone. I might be serving as pastor, secretary, partial custodian cleaning up cigarette butts from the ground outside the church post wedding, chief cook and bottlewasher for three churches, and again literally quite breathless most days, but I'm not alone. I might be supposed to be a leader, it became apparent again that most successfully I'm a follower.

I know I have Mary, who is assistant all of the above, whom I couldn't possibly work without much less live without, but every other problem I felt that was beating me to the ground was based on the fact I felt alone. It suddenly was clear. As importantly, it was absolutely clear I wasn't, alone I mean..

Whom then shall I fear, the scriptures say.
From where does my help come from, the scriptures shout.

And Matt Redman said this:
Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death
Your perfect love is casting out fear
And even when I'm caught in the middle of the storms of this life
I won't turn back
I know you are near

I've noticed that most of the times I meet people in two of the little towns I serve, where I write a Sunday column, people say, "Oh, I read you every Sunday." They think they know me. They think I have some sort of wisdom.

What I've learned in the past week, month, heck last six weeks or so is that I am wisdom-less, but I know Him. I really, really, really know Him. And that is all. I've felt a fear when I've preached that I never felt before. I've felt a fear about the future I've never felt before.

But in a song. In a moment. In a breath, I was reminded.

It's still Monday. But He is here. The valley still is deep and long, but He's here. I know He is here. Bring on Tuesday. Bring it on.