Can I get real for a minute?
I try my very best to be transparent whenever I talk to you; I really do. And for a couple of years, we were chatting every day, you and I. We were talking about all manner of things. Stuff that happens out here on the ranch, things my grandbabies talk to me about, the ins and outs of marriage, and always, always, how God is woven through every word, every breath, everything.
However, I’ve been silent for a while. A long while, actually. I’ve been in a busy season, yes. We’ve been going through some crazy family stuff, absolutely. But honestly? Truly? I’ve been, for lack of a better term, spiritually tired. Dry. Walking through this life dragging my feet through the dust.
And it’s not because the Living Water has moved, or dried up; no. It’s because I haven’t been lugging my parched self to the Well, and if that wasn’t enough, I haven’t been in community, either. I’ve been winging it on my own, secluding myself from what I know, in my heart of hearts, will bring refreshment.
Why, you ask?
Well, it’s because, for a while at least, God had me insulated from outside pressures and influences so He could tend to my heart. He does that sometimes, after seasons of heartbreak or pain. But He eventually calls us out of that insulation, back into community. When we don’t listen, however, choosing instead to stay in what has become a comfortable place of sorts, the insulation becomes isolation. And you know what?
Isolation is another name for the Devil’s playground.
I’m 52 years old. I’ve been a Christian for 42 of those years. I’ve led numerous women in numerous groups. I’ve taught from podiums. I’ve written copious words about The Word. I’ve warred in prayer, been a mentor many times over, and have walked alongside more friends than I can count who have been called to walk a tough road. I know how to talk the talk, and I know how to walk the walk.
I know better.
And yet, here I’ve been, hanging out in a place that is damaging to my soul because to step out of it means I have to deal with the crap I’ve let fester.
Dealing with crap is no fun.
But it’s necessary if you long to return to the place of the soft and pliable heart. The heart that is dripping, saturated by Water that’s alive.
So I made a decision to join a small group of women from a church of which I’m not a member. A church I’ve long admired, but, until my daughter moved into its proximity, was quite far from my own home. Yet, when I found myself over there, week after week to watch my grandson, they opened their doors to me.
Me. The 52 year old in the sea of beautiful, 30-something faces.
Wise beyond their years, with wild, warrior hearts that they freely opened to mine, they spoke of community, of all things. I talked, and they listened. I started to throw my crap out there, feeling a release, and as prayers ushered forth from parched lips, I felt a sensation that I’ve missed…so missed.
A return to the place of the soft and pliable heart. The heart that is dripping, saturated by Water that’s alive.
And it is right.
It is real.
It is wonderful.
“For my people have committed two evils: they have forsaken me, the fountain of living waters, and hewed out cisterns for themselves, broken cisterns that can hold no water.” ~ Jeremiah 2:13 ESV
“For I will pour water on the thirsty land, and streams on the dry ground.” ~ Isaiah 44:3 ESV
“But whoever drinks of the water that I will give him will never be thirsty again. The water that I will give him will become in him a spring of water welling up to eternal life.” John 4:14 ESV