What do you do when you must stop your testimony mid sentence because in order to tell what God has done, you must tell what someone else has done, and love keeps you from just that?
What do you do when most of what you have to offer through life experience must be kept silent in order to keep from slander or harming your cause?
What do you say when you must risk any semblance of success you’ve attained in order to declare, “It is written!” and the masses watch while mocking and ask, “After all, are you afraid of success?”
It is lonely in this hard place. So few know what I am about. The details of the “why” in my life are hidden from plain sight. Without the “why” my actions look unkind…even unChristian.
I find myself in a place all-too-familiar; a place with a few sentinels standing guard amid a surrounding mob of accusers, and even worse, those who just curiously wonder and don’t know what to say.
I’ve been that person. The one who stands back at a distance, wondering how to approach someone walking through the Valley. Wondering whether or not they even want to be approached. It’s not easy being the Valley traveller or the onlooker. It’s awkward, and like most Americans we run from awkward and discomfort.
What do I do when I find myself in this place? The place where others out of discomfort look away? I run; run from the pain, the accusers, the curious, the awkward. I run to the one place that has sure footing amidst the slippery slopes. I run to the Rock that is higher, to the High Tower, to the Shadow that shields from the scalding heat of pressure. And I pray, “Lord, may You be glorified, even in my silence! May You be glorified even when standing for You looks like a defeat. Lord, not my will, but Yours be done in the broken pieces of my life.”
You see,
“When you’re between a Rock and a hard place, the safest place is the Rock.”
And I cleave to the only Foundation that never moves, my well worn, leather security blanket. For while I lay with this Book, cozy on my chest, it feels like some of my bleeding heart is mended. I remember that this life isn’t about my popularity, my expression or my opinions, but rather the laying down of these things that I might lift Jesus higher than my name, that I might express His feelings to this sad world, that I might hold closer to His opinions even than to my own.
It is in the cleft of this Rock where I watch the Presence fill up the Valley with Himself. He has given me a choice seat to watch His wonder, His glory fill my frightening Valley with light and splendor, and I peak from around the Peak like a child who peers from behind his mother’s skirts while she confronts her child’s bully.
Once again, “The Lord Himself will fight for you. Just stay calm.” Ex. 14:14
All that I have ever wanted is a chance to stand. Now that I have that chance, I want nothing more than to run. And this is fine, as long as I run toward His protection, behind the hem of His garment and let Him fight for me. I can run to the High Tower and then stand in the cleft of His Rock to watch Him do the fighting for me. Even when I want to be oh so strong, I am weak. In my weakness, I cleave to His un changing, everlasting words and I am made stronger than before.
