Fragile and Precious

​I am sitting on a porch in Apalachicola listening to what Ella calls my Christian spa music. It’s a combination of songs that settle my spirit. My spirit is rarely settled on its own. I found most of this music during trips to Haiti. JoJo’s playlist includes David Brymer, Eric Nordoff’s Quiet Time Worship Music, NeedToBreathe, Matt Redman, Tenth Avenue North, and Hillsong.
 
Music relaxes me.
 
In this moment, on this porch, I am thinking about how fragile everything has become.
 
Precious yet fragile.
How much easier it is now to make mistakes that break things?
 
I’ve been writing in my journal, but I don’t feel like being funny, cute, or sweet. I feel like crying.
 
Tears of joy because my friend is relieved. The surgery went well. Her husband thrives.
Tears of concern for another friend who is scared for her child’s health and waiting for a report that takes us all from critical to stable to home.
Tears of frustration for those who are paralyzed with fear over the coming months as we try to go back to school.
Tears of unease for those who must fight for every inch.
Tears for those feeling powerless over changes in purpose and plans.
 
Crying because I can’t take care of any of it for anyone else.
 
Do I have this wrong?
 
Everything in our world seems to be wrapped in a box marked Fragile-Will Break!
The wrong word, wrong response, wrong look, or wrong perception seems to take us to a very wrong place.
 
Corona meltdown.
 
I see it all around me. The meltdown that comes from the exceedingly intense pressure of working through intense change. The meltdown that comes from hurting and losing control over things typically handled with ease. I am talking about the meltdowns over what we beautifully imagine for our future compared to a stunning reality of where we find ourselves during this crisis.
 
Firm foundations now feel somewhat unstable. That is what isolation does to a soul. That and the constant waiting for things to get back to normal.
 
I realized that my eyes have been on a moving target and not turned towards God for direction. This moving target reflects my attempts to get my life back to where it was in February. That reality.
 
The truth - God is my ultimate reality.
 
I spent the last few months talking to myself about faith over fear. Now I must face forgiveness over fear. Grace over fear. And it doesn’t matter who the grace is for- myself, my family, my friends, or strangers I encounter during the day. I'm trying to avoid my own Corona meltdown.
 
I am grateful for every grace given to me and for each gracious person God puts in my life. These people are my teachers.
 
Like Emory Wilson.
 
Several years ago, I was sitting at a table in Gonaïves, Haiti, drinking hot coffee on a sweltering morning. Already sweating. Forgiveness was the topic of our morning devotion. How to forgive. I sat back and listened. This really awesome devotion full of empowering and meaningful moments did not apply to me (and I can make any lesson apply to my life on some level.)
 
I asked myself, Who have I not forgiven in my life?  There was really only one person left and there was no point.
 
Breakfast ended and we loaded into the truck to ride to school. I finally snagged a seat inside- a rare feat. There was the littlest bit of A/C that I was scrambling for because yes, I was still roasting.
 
Inside the truck the discussion continued. Emory, my dear friend and a spiritual leader among this precious group, navigated the always interesting drive to the school in Jubilee. He looked back at me, asking me why my talkative self was so quiet during devotion.
 
I shrugged How do you forgive someone who has already died?
 
The look that passed over his face! He immediately pulled over and stopped the truck. He turned around, giving me his full attention. Are you truly ready to forgive this person? Emory challenged me to face up to something I had been holding onto for over twenty years.
 
Right there on the side of the road in Haiti.
With the dust, goats, and sweltering sun.
It was that complicated and that simple.
 
He asked me if I was ready to choose forgiveness?
 
Emory prayed for me to let go of the heavy yet dull, lingering pain that encircled this lost relationship.
 
I’ve never forgotten the power of that moment.
The power to choose. I just needed help understanding how to lay it down. Emory understood because he had been there before too.
 
If you want a bit of God’s word, try Psalm 46. It’s about being still while He transforms our hearts and minds. It’s about letting go of worries we can’t control. We can cease striving knowing He is God.
 
I can choose faith and grace and forgiveness and hope, 
Or
I can choose to keep on crying.
 
Selah.
 
 
 
From my playlist, I hear these words:
 
From the East to West
You’re Already There.
In Christ Alone I find a
Revelation Song.
There are 10,000 reasons
Great is Thy Faithfulness.
You Won’t Relent so
Oh Draw Me Lord with
More Love, More Power and with
More Heart, Less Attack.
Amazing Grace reminds me
How Great is Our God
Lord, prepare me to be a Sanctuary.
 
I am not even going to bring up Lauren Daigle. Yet.

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