refuge.

It was Saturday morning. The morning I usually love. The lazy one where we lay in bed for a while and then get up and make a bigger than normal breakfast. Accept that either he or I woke up on the wrong side of the bed. I don’t quite recall how it went but the hopes for the day were smashed no less than 1o minutes into breakfast, and breakfast turned out to be the size of any normal day.

Words were exchanged and in front of the kids. I cringe to think of how we reared ugliness in front of them. He left as he normally does when arguing ensues. And I wept. We prayed: for their father, for me, I sought forgiveness; we prayed for grace. We eventually moved on with our day. But it didn’t feel right or normal or peaceful.I was determined to set the day straight and right for them, but reflecting back I think I failed. I tried.

Communication can often be void. Our passions have changed. My spirit has changed grown. What was once important is not anymore and I know how difficult that can be to understand for an unbeliever. I am not who he married; my heart is becoming more like Jesus’ every day. I emailed a letter to him. I admitted where I was wrong and apologized, but my heart was still put out. My hope that our relationship was getting easier had been dashed. Hopelessness set in.

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When I find a seat in church, I often try to sit on the end of the aisle. I look for an empty aisle. It’s not that I don’t want to be around people, it’s just that have always felt more comfortable worshiping on my own so I don’t have to think about the people around me. It’s not uncommon for me to shed tears during worship and sometimes it can be uncontrollable. This morning I chose a seat in an empty aisle and on the end.

But I got there too early. Soon eight more people decided to choose the same aisle. They’d asked me to move down to towards the other end where two more people were seated. I heaved a big deep sigh on the inside. I was stuck.

The worship team began to sing and play.

“You restored the brokenhearted
And You brought the dead to life
Forgetting all our sins
You remember all Your promises”

This morning I raised my hands. For the first time in two years, I lifted my hands unprompted, with abandon, unconcerned. I reached up, wanting to touch Him, to feel His love, to know Him, to find refuge. My broken heart needed her Father. And He came. He came to rescue me in the form of song, in the form of a message, with His presence. My hopeless heart became full again.

Sometimes I think I believe things just because I know them to be true in my head. Today’s gift I felt in my heart: that He is never far from me.