Submitted by kim on Thu, 04/07/2011 - 20:09 in Lessons for Mom
I settle my teen sons into their dental cleaning appointments. They are tilted back, mouths open. I have been anticipating these quiet moments of independence all day. My bag, packed with my bible, my study for the week, and an edify book is flung over my shoulder. I set out on foot to find an iced coffee with some sweet flavoring. Fifteen minutes later, I plant myself on a park bench.
I don't settle often enough. When there are graduation announcements to mail, I can get caught up in the production. When there are packing lists for summer adventures to look over, classes to study for, and lectures to prepare, I make those a bigger priority than settling. And the guilt of that, of not taking time to meet with the One I love, piles on top of the guilt of a raised voice, an impatient glance, a snapped response. I need to quiet. I need my soul quenched. Maybe even moments of my day erased. I settle.
The Bradford Pear trees are in bloom but their delicate petals don't hold up to the breeze. The shower of white blossoms rains down around me. Beautiful. Such a contrast from the shower of pain last weekend. Could both be given from the hand of the One I love? Perhaps the first shower was to force me to settle with Him. I read.
"He put on righteousness as his breastplate, and the helmet of salvation on his head; he put on the garments of vengeance and wrapped himself in zeal as a cloak." He dressed for battle, this One I love, this Jesus. A battle fought to erase my guilt. A battle fought to erase the pain of brokenness.
"As for me, this is my covenant with them," says the Lord, "My Spirit, who is on you, and my words."
His Word is a covenant to me. An agreement.
"Stand firm then, with the belt of truth buckled around your waist, with the breastplate of righteousness in place."
When I am still, His Word showers me, wraps me, becomes my belt, equips me to stand. He agreed to do this. I rest.
Coffee gone. Phone alarm signals the need to return to the dentist office. I walk the blocks, thoughts lingering back to the bench. When I reach to open the door, I notice I've been carrying an eraser in my hand.
The Fox Catcher: Isaiah 59:17, 21; Ephesians 6:14