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A story is told of an older couple driving down the road in their aged, but reliable vehicle. Suddenly a convertible speeds by, providing a view of a young couple at the helm, huge smiles on their faces and obviously in love, the woman practically sitting in the man’s lap. The old woman looks on with a touch of envy and comments, “What happened to us? We used to be just like them, so in love.” Without flinching or taking his eyes off the road, her husband replies, “Well, I don’t know. I haven’t moved.”

The story makes me laugh, but at the same time, I’m reminded of my relationship with the Lord. So often, I feel distant and removed from Him, and wonder why He feels far off. But He never moves. Though omniscient and omnipotent, He remains always omnipresent. Not only is He always with me, He is also always approachable. The mighty, magnificent, majestic God of the universe desires me to come near, and assures me He’ll always be glad to see me. In James 4:8 we are promised, “Come near to God, and He will come near to you.” Zephaniah 3:17 assures us, “The Lord your God is with you. He is mighty to save. He will take great delight in you, He will quiet you with His love; He will rejoice over you with singing.” Whatever condition I may be in, He hasn’t moved. Ruth Meyers summarized the mystery of these thoughts well: “To think that You not only permit me to come before You, but You actually desire my fellowship, my worship, my prayers, and my eternal presence!”

Presently, I find myself in a great life transition, having left a teaching career I found fulfilling and rewarding for over ten years. I moved back to an area I love, but had moved away from just over two years ago, without a new position or clear idea of what work I’ll be able to find in the future. To most outsiders, it must seem as though I’ve lost it, and I guess in a way, I have. The period preceding the decision was something of a “dark night of the soul”, in which I struggled to find a way to do the work before me well with the challenges presented by physical health, and grew sorrowful at the impact it seemed my poor teaching and unclear thinking were having on my students. For several years, it’s felt as though I’ve been physically pushing an invisible brick wall with every step, but have always been provided the strength to do so. Last fall, however, unmoving walls seemed to surround me on every side.  As I cried out to God again and again for a way out, He continuously revealed to me “[my] walls are ever before [Him]” (Isaiah 49:16). As one friend commented, suddenly instead of trying to push out all the walls, a way was provided to go around and find a new path.

 

Though the decision was radical, I knew in the deepest parts of my soul it was necessary. I can’t fault God’s provision in providing a clear and open path, surrounded in His “light that followeth all my way” (George Matheson). God provided peace in placing the students in new and capable hands, worked out a thousand small details in moving to a place of greater support, and reminded me of the many friends willing to walk alongside me in the journey. Several of those friends offered me places to stay, and now here I am, sitting in a lovely studio apartment overlooking the San Juan Mountains, full of the love and light of this amazing family, full of the provenance of the Lord. Though no job has yet presented itself and in many ways I am searching, I know this is a precious opportunity to rest. My Shepherd has promised not to leave me in need of His abundance, companionship, direction, protection, provision, rest, restoration, and even satisfaction (Psalm 23). So I “praise the bridge that carried [me] over” (George Colman, the Younger), and with George Matheson, proclaim:  

 

“O Light that foll’west all my way

I yield my flick’ring torch to thee

My heart restores its borrowed ray

That in thy sunshine’s blaze its day

May brighter, fairer be.”

Scottish author George Matheson, who lived between 1842-1906, began to lose his sight at the age of twenty, and was told by doctors it would soon be lost completely and irrevocably. When he shared the prognosis with his fiancee at, she broke off the engagement, fearing she could not face sharing life with a blind husband. Though he did in fact lose both his sight and his betrothed, he gave thanks for the friendship and care of a beloved sister, who also remained single. With her help, he left writing and began to preach, gaining a large following. Twenty years later, the sister who had been his companion in life, fell in love and was married. The story goes that on the eve of her wedding, he sat alone in the church, filled with sorrow at the loss he faced. He found great comfort in the Lord, and was filled with words that later became the hymn, “O Love that Will Not Let Me Go”. Though he wrote many hymns, he said this was the only one he completed in five minutes, and never needed to edit a single word.The first stanza goes as follows:

“O Love that will not let me go,

I rest my weary soul in thee

I give thee back the life I owe

That in thine ocean depths its flow

May richer, fuller be.”

What inspiring words of the only love that could never fail. George Matheson continued to serve God as a pastor, proving daily the faithfulness of his Heavenly Father and Pastor to provide for his every need. Though life often seems to require sacrifices of us we find hard to face, we can know we are not alone in our sojourns. We can be assured the depths of the flow of His love will always exceed our need, and always pursue our hearts.

A dear friend recently gave me an amazing gift, a light blanket made out of repurposed saris. So many differing patterns are stitched together in the most beautiful compilation. Items that had seemed to outlive their beauty and usefulness are given new purpose and appreciation. It calls to mind that no matter how exhausted and spent we are from the many roles we play, there are those to whom we can offer ourselves, whatever condition we might be in. The friend who gave me the sari throw is an example of this sort of invitation, and I love that she has accepted me as I have been, whether full of brokenness and despair, or joy and victory. As the old hymn by Charlotte Elliott says: “Just as I am, though tossed about, through many a conflict, many a doubt, to Thee whose blood can cleanse each spot, O Lamb of God, I come.”

 

I’m also reminded of David Crowder’s song “Come As You Are”. On the rare occasion my pastor leads worship, this song is almost always featured. As one who has seen the ups and down and inward workings of ministry, often having the inside scoop on the disillusioning depravity of all men, he loves this song. He’s continually reminded that the heart of our gracious God is that wherever we’ve been, we can always come back and be restored. So let’s all receive that invitation again, knowing our God could never be disillusioned with us; He knew it all when He chose us as His own.

 

Come out of sadness

From wherever you’ve been

Come broken hearted

Let rescue begin

Come find your mercy

Oh sinner come kneel

Earth has no sorrow

That heaven can’t heal

Earth has no sorrow

That heaven can’t heal

 

So lay down your burdens

Lay down your shame

All who are broken

Lift up your face

Oh wanderer come home

You’re not too far

So lay down your hurt

Lay down your heart

Come as you are

I can still hear my grandmother’s throaty voice singing out the old hymn “In the Garden” (C. Austin Miles, 1912). This was one of many favorites she would choose between as she washed up the dishes from lunch or supper. They were a staple in her communion with the Lord, the reward of her daily walk. Though I was quite young still when she passed away, I often observed her face as she sang, perceiving each song she chose was precious because of her life’s experiences. Between “An Old Rugged Cross”, “How Great Thou Art”, “Just As I Am”, & “I Surrender All”, this one stood out to me most because it showed the Lord’s presence was a tangible reality to her. Her expression was captivated, peaceful and smiling as she came to the words of the chorus: “And He walks with me, and He talks with me, and He tells me I am His own. And the joy we share as we tarry there, none other can ever know.” It seemed she would pause each time she came anew to the word “He”, her cheeks almost blushing as those of a young girl in love. In truth, she was. She’d come to know the Lord relatively late in life, after all eight of her children were born and after her first husband had passed away, making redemption all the sweeter.

 
I still love these words, and perhaps because of the memories they evoke, the hymn has become one of my favorites. The title, as well as my grandmother’s fondness for it, came back to me in a beautiful garden in the New Mexico desert, at a camp where I worked a summer in college. I loved to go there in the early morning for my devotions, and it was then I realized the depth of personal meaning the song had for me. At this stage in my journey, I’m struck anew by one particular phrase: “I come to the garden, alone” (emphasis mine). Heretofore I’d perhaps been unwilling to accept its veracity, but isn’t it so true? In trysting with the Lord, we most often come alone, whatever the circumstances of our lives and relationships might be. Though I’ve personally always longed for marriage, and never imagined myself single this long, I’m grateful now for the time I’ve had to singularly devote to these meetings. It’s a gift to get to share my life with Him as its companion: “…and the joy we share as we tarry there, none other can ever know.”