Thirsty

Vincent has been in the garage for at least an hour.  Bending over paper, paint and markers in hand at our new garage craft center.  His glasses slide down his nose so he peers over them like an old man, his hair sticking up in the back, paint smeared on his shirt and pants.  I check on him between loads of laundry and unloading of the dishwasher and the refilling of Luisa's straw cup.  Eventually, the back door slams.  He steps in the kitchen, creation in hand.  "Momma for you!"  He peers at me over his glasses with a big, proud smile.

I am struck dumb for a moment then exclaim, "I LOVE IT!" 

I stare at the painting and the lesson hits deep to my heart.  You must grow weary with me, God.  Always having to be so obvious.  Having to send a child to bring home the point You've laid on my heart over the last few months. 

In Vincent's artwork I see streams running down from the cross.  Surely he was not thinking of streams of Living Water as he painted his cross creation?

"Vincent, what is this a picture of?"  

"Momma you know that place we go where we dress up?"

"Church?"

"Yes.  This is church," Vincent declares.

 I see the dome now and yet I ask him about the blue.

"That's where we walk up."  

He sees the blue going up, a sidewalk of sorts and I see the blue flowing down.  I wonder if the brown paint ran out and blue was the next best thing?And I know what God is trying to say.  Living Water.  Living Water.  Living Water.

This reminder now on repeat.   I get it.  I get it.  

If I believe my body is made up of two dimensions - the physical and the spiritual, why do I take care of one so carefully while neglecting the other?  I minimize fried food and I haven't eaten a McDonalds french fry or burger in I can't tell you how long.  I overload on snacks but for the most part, I stick with fresh food and smaller portions.  When I cut my finger preparing dinner, I wash the injury thoroughly.  Apply a bandaid if needed.  I take care to sleep at night.  I am careful to wear a jacket.

But my spiritual?

I've been substituting.  Neglecting to spiritually nourish for whole days of the week, then binging on the weekend hoping it will last.  Oddly, I always find myself hungry again the next day.  

I drink spiritual Soda (the substitute of people, numbing TV, the winding down of that glass of wine) and expect it to satisfy Monday through Friday.  Like lukewarm soda these things taste sweet as they hit the tongue but grow saccharine and empty when swallowed down.  I am weary.  Perhaps I need to exercise.  Perhaps eat better?  Maybe take a nap?  

All the while my other half - my spirit.  My spirit is thirsty, starving really.  

So on Saturday and Sunday I gulp of Water, eat of Bread hoping it will be enough to sustain all week.  But come the end of the day Monday?  It is not enough. 

How often, how frequent does God need to show me the error of my ways?  How explicit is He?  When you leave Egypt, consume the Lamb completely so that you might be nourished on your journey (Exodus 12).  Why do I hesitate to consume my Lamb on my knees EVERYDAY, quietly in my closet so that I might be sustained spiritually for this tough journey?  Eating of the small wafer during the Lord's Supper on Sunday?  Sarah, feast on the Bread of Life, not just on Sunday but each day.  Or else you will grow faint.  Exhausted.  We must eat everyday for our bodies to thrive.  We must drink daily from the cup of His word for our spirits to thrive. 
 

 

Right there in the kitchen, a five year old's art in hand I am reminded of the Living Water offered to a woman at the well.  She was most thirsty.  Substituting and feeding her spirit with the love she could find from other people, men.  And it was nothing more than junk food, a few drops of lukewarm soda.  She was thirsty.  And Jesus wanted more for her.  He saw straight to the soul, the soul with it's ribs sticking out and its dry, cracked lips.  He knew about her substitute love.  He knows about our substitutes of earthly praise and accolades and success and He says, "Everyone who drinks this water will be thirsty again, but whoever drinks the water I give him will never thirst.  Indeed, the water I give him will become in him a spring of water welling up to eternal life."  John 4:13-14.

And in despair I bowed my head

                              “There is no peace on earth,” I said,

“For hate is strong and mocks the song

Of peace on earth, good will to men.”

Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:

“God is not dead, nor doth He sleep;

The wrong shall fail, the right prevail

With peace on earth, good will to men.” (I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day)

Work, work, work all week and refuse to eat the Bread of my soul.  The Bread of Life  "Do not work for food that spoils, but for food that endures to eternal life, which the Son of Man will give you.  On him God the Father has placed his seal of approval."  John 6:27.

Passover Lamb.  Living Water.  Bread of Life.

I hang Vincent's picture in my place of prayer.  And I breath in "Be Still."  And exhale, "For I am The Lord Your God."  In prayer, in Word, in just being still in His presence, I drink of Living Water.  And before I rise from my prayer, I see His gentle reminder right there - an orange cross and blue water.

This will be a journey.  This living as a wife.  This parenting of beautiful children.  This serving of my fellow split beings, physical and spiritual.  This caring for, this stewarding of one who is quite broken physically, her legs walking so well but her hands starting to tremor.  This will be a journey.  I must eat of The Passover Lamb completely.  I must drink of His Living Water.  I must partake of The Bread of Life. I must not face life's challenges with a malnourished spirit.

{Courtesy A. Bryan Photo}

 

O ye beneath life's crushing load,

                                  Whose forms are bending low,

Who toil along the climbing way

With painful steps and slow;

Look now, for glad and golden hours

Come swiftly on the wing;

Oh rest beside the weary road

And hear the angels sing. (It Came Upon the Midnight Clear)

 

This Christmas I wonder if we will gather around the tree our soul lips as dry as the pine needles starting to fall?  I wonder if there will be an emptiness in our chest, a hollowness of soul?  After the toys are opened and the gift cards are gathered, I wonder if boredom will set back in?  I wonder if despite our best efforts we are just weary?  May we sing the carols with tears in our eyes because their truths quench our hearts, leaving us trembling and grateful.

Long lay the world in sin and error pining. 

                        Till He appeared and the Spirit felt its worth. 

A thrill of hope the weary world rejoices, 

For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn. 

Fall on your knees! Oh, hear the angel voices! 

O night divine, the night when Christ was born; 

O night, O holy night, O night divine! 

O night, O holy night, O night divine! (O Holy Night)

I imagine His birth that night.  God arrived in the flesh, His physical body born as ours was born - water and blood and the miracle of gasping breath.  He chose to arrive this way, raw and messy, so that our souls might take a deep breath.  Gasp air.  

I will drink these truths, with an orange cross and blue streams to remind me.  I will.

Find Life.  Find Water.  Find Bread.  Find my Lamb in Christ Alone.