My Abba Walk took me to the quiet places, where surrounded by an abundance of towering green, all was peace and rest. Nothing, no one, could touch me here, save God alone. No cultural chaos, calamity, short-tempered person, or stressful daily detail could hamper the soothing stillness where the only sounds were birdsong and rustling leaves.
God speaks in the quiet places, and I longed to hear Him as I meditated on the scripture I'd read that morning.
I sat on a stone ledge to soak up the sun and pour my heart out to Jesus. I paused to listen and in the gap, He broke into my thoughts: "I speak in the suffering places, too, if you have ears to hear."
Stunned, my heart lurched. Certainly, the thought of suffering was not a new one. I'd experienced Jesus before in noisy, confusing affliction. Well-fought for closer relationship with Jesus with much grappling but always the richer for it.
But suffering was not what I wanted to be reminded of on this fine day. "No, Lord, I don't want to hear that today," I agonized. "It's too much of an intrusion on this peaceful place. You don't understand. Nothing's supposed to touch me here in the quiet places with You, not even the thought of suffering. How could you wound me so with these words?"
On the way home, I lingered at my Gethsemane tree to embrace the sacrifice of struggle and ultimately surrender. My peaceful place returned, for it really isn't a geographical location at all but a place deep in the heart.
Yet the physical trek provides opportunity for a focused heart, a ready heart. Still, the next day I hesitated to take my Abba Walk. I felt offended, shocked even by the Lord's message the day before. Another call to surrender. Once done, I set out, for I cherish the calming influence of creation which frees me from daily distractions that pester like needy children tugging on my pant leg.
A couple days later, I awoke with a sense of foreboding, which even my walk and talk with Jesus did not alleviate. Returning home, I emailed three women who responded with prayer and encouragement. The nebulous feeling largely lifted. Then turning to Psalms (my go-to book when troubling emotions surface), I came to 3:3: "Oh Lord, You are a shield around me. My glory, and the lifter of my head." Peace replaced panic as God's Word nourished and reassured my soul.
Another couple days passed. When we Skyped with our missionary granddaughter (Rebekah), we learned she'd experienced a moto accident. Cycle fell over on her. She got back on, caught her foot, and cycle dragged her through the dirt lot before Dad could stop it. Leg abrasion and injured foot. Sore and unsure if broken.
A few days later, I, too, experienced a motor accident. While driving through a green light, a car ran a red light and slammed into the driver's side back bumper, causing my car to spin. Glasses flew off, I screamed, and then came to a stop in the intersection. Pain ripped through my chest. Dazed, I inched the clinking car across the road and parked in the GettyMart lot.
I opened the door for air. A couple pumping gas immediately approached me. She on her phone, he asking diagnostic questions. They'd witnessed the whole thing. Thankfully.
The man went for my husband, Chuck (at home in a teletherapy session which he'd just concluded). They arrived at the scene, along with a neighbor, whom I'd only met days earlier. In kindness, she offered to help.
The owner of the garden supply store across the street also rushed over. She was a nurse, walked me through deep breathing and assessment of injuries. Chest in great deal of pain. EMT/ambulance arrived and police (gave her report). Jeff (a believer according to Chuck's later report) treated me with such care and compassion as did Marcus, his younger partner on call. Transport to hospital where the PA ordered testing and ultimately diagnosed an upper chest contusion. Rest, ice, compress, elevate on Day one, followed by rest and heat thereafter as needed. At home, we called our herbalist who prescribed additional supplements to support self-healing.
Now to get strength back and renewed courage to get behind the wheel again (Joshua 1:9) when I'm physically able.
The foreboding? Perhaps God's way of preparing me with prayer and scripture. Such peace knowing He is my shield. Yes! For the event could've been so much worse, as was true for Rebekah. In her case, a later x-ray showed no broken bones.
The Lord is indeed a shield around us. How many times He'd spared me, us, from accidents, either at the hands of others or due to our own negligence. On this day, in the mystery of His workings, He chose not to. And in truth, while I still wouldn't choose suffering, neither would I trade the richer experience with Him in the midst of the suffering. Nor the opportunity to witness of His love to others He pulls around in a crisis that I may never have met otherwise. Not to mention the beauty of the Body of Christ at work ministering to one of its own.
Yes, the Lord does speak in the stillness and on the other side of stillness, for those with ears to hear.
