When Wendy asked me to write a guest post on her incredible blog, I wanted to write something new. However, I couldn't stop thinking of a certain journal entry, so I have rewritten it for this post. It is my ardent prayer that something in these words catches your heart's attention and renews a steadfast hope within you, the hope of a very real and personal God who's name is faithful and true <3
Imagine this: You're in a first row seat at a rock concert, right under the speaker, where you can feel the power of the bass drum pound at your chest. Imagine a piercing crack of thunder so loud that it pulses right through your body. Do you know that feeling?
That was it. But this time it wasn't a drum. It could have been thunder. But it wasn’t. As a powerful boom hit the chests of each person strolling through the park, the entire world stopped in an instant. In a held breath all speech ceased, every foot heavy in a frozen stance. Was that... eyes searched the sky frantically, and as quickly as it froze the moment broke free into total chaos. Yes. Run.
In the park's public restroom the air was thick with anticipation. Within the anthill in which we scattering ants had gathered, breathless from fleeing strides, fear was screaming in the silence. There were far too many people crowded into such a small space in the desert's mid-summer heat. A still small voice, "I am here. You are safe."
Now. Now as a faint whisper in the distance a siren sounded. Yeah, thanks for the warning... A muffled voice uttered in a foreign language over a loud speaker and the tension was clear across each stranger's face. It wasn't over. Every eye stared, wide-eyed, at the cold stone walls as if at any second they could come alive, the sunlight and desert sand bursting in from behind them. A still small voice, "I am with you. You are safe."
Dear friends of mine, a mother and father, held tightly to their confused young children. Just babies, they didn't understand. Shaken parents, they needed to pray. A still small voice in my heart compelled me. But what could I do, little more than a child myself?
The boys were a bit confused as I sat them each in a sink. Comforted by the cool water, they gave me their attention. Handing them a roll of toilet paper I watched as their fear turned to curiosity while learning how to use water to turn the toilet paper into small balls. Picking up the trash bin, I silently prayed the only word that I could, "Peace". With that there was no attention to be given to what was happening outside. Their curiosity faded into bright smiles as I stepped back and held the bin high for a game. As the first ball soared into the basket the purest sound of delight rose from the fearful silence and chased tension away. Laughter, not shrill or annoying but soft and full of joy filled the small space. For the first time in an eternity a gentle breath, a sigh, spread throughout the crowd gathered in this haven. The walls on which every eye had been fixed seemed to move a little further away.
A cockroach fell from the trash bin and brushed my hand on its way to the ground; I jumped back looking at the boys who were laughing so hard that their laughs had become nearly silent, my expression exclaiming "Did you see that?!". From a few feet away, their father let out a laugh with his children. As I glanced at him and his wife praying, the calmed faces around me and the happiness in the eyes of these children, despite the situation in which we found ourselves, an extremely overwhelming wave of awe overtook me. I felt so... small... blessed. His still small voice captivated every thread of my attention, "This is who I am."
That was it. But this time it wasn't a drum. It could have been thunder. But it wasn’t. As a powerful boom hit the chests of each person strolling through the park, the entire world stopped in an instant. In a held breath all speech ceased, every foot heavy in a frozen stance. Was that... eyes searched the sky frantically, and as quickly as it froze the moment broke free into total chaos. Yes. Run.
In the park's public restroom the air was thick with anticipation. Within the anthill in which we scattering ants had gathered, breathless from fleeing strides, fear was screaming in the silence. There were far too many people crowded into such a small space in the desert's mid-summer heat. A still small voice, "I am here. You are safe."
Now. Now as a faint whisper in the distance a siren sounded. Yeah, thanks for the warning... A muffled voice uttered in a foreign language over a loud speaker and the tension was clear across each stranger's face. It wasn't over. Every eye stared, wide-eyed, at the cold stone walls as if at any second they could come alive, the sunlight and desert sand bursting in from behind them. A still small voice, "I am with you. You are safe."
Dear friends of mine, a mother and father, held tightly to their confused young children. Just babies, they didn't understand. Shaken parents, they needed to pray. A still small voice in my heart compelled me. But what could I do, little more than a child myself?
The boys were a bit confused as I sat them each in a sink. Comforted by the cool water, they gave me their attention. Handing them a roll of toilet paper I watched as their fear turned to curiosity while learning how to use water to turn the toilet paper into small balls. Picking up the trash bin, I silently prayed the only word that I could, "Peace". With that there was no attention to be given to what was happening outside. Their curiosity faded into bright smiles as I stepped back and held the bin high for a game. As the first ball soared into the basket the purest sound of delight rose from the fearful silence and chased tension away. Laughter, not shrill or annoying but soft and full of joy filled the small space. For the first time in an eternity a gentle breath, a sigh, spread throughout the crowd gathered in this haven. The walls on which every eye had been fixed seemed to move a little further away.
A cockroach fell from the trash bin and brushed my hand on its way to the ground; I jumped back looking at the boys who were laughing so hard that their laughs had become nearly silent, my expression exclaiming "Did you see that?!". From a few feet away, their father let out a laugh with his children. As I glanced at him and his wife praying, the calmed faces around me and the happiness in the eyes of these children, despite the situation in which we found ourselves, an extremely overwhelming wave of awe overtook me. I felt so... small... blessed. His still small voice captivated every thread of my attention, "This is who I am."
His voice was not in the bombs falling from the sky. His voice was not in the sirens. His voice was not in the chaos of fear and panic. That day the God of the universe opened my ears and taught His child to hear Him, to listen for His still small voice.
It was mid-summer, 2006, during the Lebanese war. I was sixteen and volunteering at a Christian guest house in northern Israel. That day we had traveled south, far from the line of missile range, for a day of rest in the park. That day Lebanon used their long range missiles aiming them for the first time at an army base on the mountain above the park. They missed. The booms resounded throughout the park below.
Even as I write these words, that day seems like a scene from a movie to me; no words could possibly grasp the intensity, the solid, steadfast presence of my God. That day He took my relationship with Him to a level far beyond my understanding. In a moment my eyes were opened in ways I still cannot put into words. I didn’t run. There was something in my heart, though so young, that knew Him as He held me, knew the voice of my Lord as He made His presence and promises known. That something was Christ. Christ in me doing the will of the Father in Heaven. WOW!
Several years later I was on another amazing trip to Israel in the same house I had previously volunteered for, and the family from that summer was staying there with a tour group. As we went through the blessings and Shabbat meal on their last Friday evening, the very same laughter from that day three years before filled the room as an undercurrent of joy that mingled with the hum of our conversation. In a very different light on a very different day, my ears immediately caught that sound out of nearly twenty voices and it warmed my heart. Though three years older, those two little boys had the same laughs. I am sure I will never forget their sound nor lose what it has meant to me. I was so incredibly humbled at how much the Lord had done and was doing in my life. There was something about this little treasure of a memory that opened my eyes to how far we had come giving me hope of the work He has yet to do.
War. It changes people. It can either riddle your heart with fear or be used to strengthen your understanding of, faith in and stand for God. Whether the "bombs" in your life are literally bombs or they are tests and trials in other forms, God is speaking. His still small voice is beckoning your heart to draw closer to Him, to focus on the One who is bigger, the One who hears and is answering your cries. Maybe that’s why I love sleeping under the stars in the holy land, walking the shore of the Galilee. Rich in history, they know. The same God, the same me, growing and walking through amazing days and adventures, but somehow, when I’m there, my world understands. Though many foreign languages my ears are unable to understand are being spoken around me, there is an understanding of the language of our hearts that dissolves the need for any other communication. Did I mention that those boys were from South Africa and did not speak a word of English? The love of Christ was our common language. Throughout our summer together it was all we needed.
As I take a moment to cherish this memory I find my glory in the power of the cross. I find my peace in the power it gave, that Christ can whisper to my heart knowing that I can listen. I find my joy and hope in the presance of God and His power to send fear right back to where it came from with His voice that booms from Heaven, "She is mine!".
Thank you for taking the time to read this post. I pray you come to know these moments and know them well. I pray He continues to do many otherwise impossible things through these weak unworthy hands of ours. I pray He draws you close, dear reader, closer than ever before.
-Kristina Stears
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Jeremiah 29:23 |
Wow. What a beautiful story. What courage.
ReplyDeleteI loved reading this post Kristina. It was very encouraging. Love you Soul Sista!
ReplyDeleteThank you, Teresa :) Our Father is pretty amazing, isn't He ;)
ReplyDelete