Chocolate Milk Epiphany

It would seem that God can speak at any time and in any way.

Baalam's donkey.

Angelic wrestling match.

Burning bush.

Sound of silence.

Chocolate milk.

Yep. Even chocolate milk.

Love it.

I love how He can speak through anything, at anytime, to anyone who is listening.

---

It was snack time in our household. I was getting the Trio's snacks ready in the kitchen,and I was wrestling (yet again) with the fact that God's timing and ways were not lining up with my timing and my ways.

Accidentally, I had filled El's glass a bit too full of milk -- well, a bit too full if I was to fit in the chocolate syrup for his chocolate milk. But, fearlessly, I pressed on and squeezed as much chocolate into the glass as it would hold. Now I had a problem. How was I to stir the chocolate into the milk without spilling it all over the counter?

Ugh.

I pulled out a long-handled tea spoon and carefully began to flick the chocolate around in the bottom of the glass. The surface of the milk was not even moving (which was good, otherwise I would have had a milk-tastrophe to clean up.)

"This is gonna take a while," I thought.

"But is it mixing?" I heard the Lord ask me.

"Yes," I answered. I knew it was because I could feel the syrup stuck to the spoon. I knew it was mixing, even though I couldn't see through the opaque glass, even though the surface of the milk was not moving, even though I knew this would take a while.

"But you can't see it. You can't see anything happening," He pointed out.

"Uh-huuuuuuuuh . . ." I knew He was going somewhere with this one.

"Sweetheart, sometimes My work is so deep that the surface of life is not disturbed by it. Sometimes you cannot see that I am working at all. But I am. The work I am doing is deep. But it is true. It is lasting. And it can't be rushed."

---

I looked down at the glass that I was carefully stirring, and I began to see the faintest streaks of light-brown swirling to the surface of the glass.

Ah.

"Babe, I AM working. I have heard your prayer, and I am working. You are praying. I am working -- whether you can see it or not. Trust me, sweetheart, I am working. And it is going to be awesome."

---

So, when I am praying, and I cannot see Him moving in anyway in the situation, I sit back. I remember the overly-full glass of chocolate milk. And I smile.

It's deep work.

It's lasting work.

And HE is doing it.

I can just patiently wait.

Chocolate milk, baby!

It speaks to me on so many levels . . .

His Other Hand

The Lord's hand did not move to answer my cry.


This phrase has been swirling around in my mind and heart since I posted yesterday.
It hasn't set well with my spirit.


The Lord's hand did not move to answer my cry.


I've been asking the Lord why this phrase doesn't feel right.
It was definitely how I perceived His activity during that season of my life.
Why isn't this phrase resting peacefully as such?


---


The truth is, I know better now.


Last night, as I was sitting with Him and that phrase, I had a picture pop into my mind. It was a picture of what I call His "hold right there" hand. (Very similar to the hand I put up when my kids see that I am on the phone and begin to clamor for sharpened pencils, a new toy, and the definition of the word "antidisestablishmentarianism" -- only His eyes weren't bugged out and His face was not flexed in perturbation.)




I could see His hold-right-there hand gently tarrying in front of my anxious and desperate heart. I was crying out to Him, but I heard no answer. I saw no movement of the hand. And that was all I could see. The hand. Not moving.


But in the picture that popped into my head, I saw His other hand, too. THIS hand was a blur of movement. It was working so quickly that I could not follow it with my eyes.


I looked back to the other hand. The stationary hand. The hand of waiting.


Ugh. Waiting.


That was the only hand I could see in my pain and disappointment and frustration.


I could only see the hand that was NOT moving. I was fixated on that hand. The one that wasn't doing things my way. The one that wasn't moving fast enough. The one that wasn't answering the prayers I wanted to have answered.


But what I didn't see through the haze of my disillusionment was the hand that was moving. There was His other hand -- opposite the hold-right-there hand -- that was working swiftly to bring beauty from ashes, to bring healing from pain, to bring life from death. That hand was moving.


I just couldn't see it.


I couldn't see because I couldn't get past the fact that He was allowing such a great amount of pain.


---


Lord, give me eyes to see both of your hands.
Give me a heart that can trust that while one hand is still, the other is working in ways I cannot see.
Remind me You are good, despite how I feel.

His Hand

When in the darkness of life,
I cry out to Him.

I beg for wisdom,
for guidance,
for discernment.
I moan for relief,
for light,
for freedom.
I search for hope,
for purpose,
for meaning.



As we were in Corban's pediatrician's office for the ump-teenth time the summer of 2012, and Corban was wasting away and in terrible pain, I prayed for supernatural knowledge for the doctor so that we could help Corban. It didn't happen. God did not tell the doctor what was going on.

The Lord's hand did not move to answer my cry.


As I was holding Corban as he threw up blood, I pleaded with the Lord to heal him, to allow me to have Corban's pain. But no healing came. Corban was still in pain.

The Lord's hand did not move to answer my cry.

As they were trying for the second, excruciating time to get Corban's IV inserted, I prayed that it would be a quick success. I asked the Lord why He could possibly need to allow more pain for Corban. The IV didn't work.

The Lord's hand did not move to answer my cry.


After Corban got his NG tube and they were doing an x-ray of his belly to make sure it was placed correctly, I prayed that it would be in the right place so that they would not need to mess with it anymore and cause even more pain and trauma. It was not. They had to move it.

The Lord's hand did not move to answer my cry.


With David in the Psalms, I cried out, "How long, O Lord, how long?"

I did not receive an answer.

---

Obviously, God's ways are beyond me.

In those moments of disappointment I felt betrayed. I felt abandoned. I felt like He was being cruel.
I felt lost. I felt like I had no idea who my God was.

And that was the crux of it.
I did not know the God I was interacting with, and I did not understand His ways.

---

But over these last months and years, I have learned something.

I have learned that while He does not always remove or prevent pain, He does use the pain and guide us on the paths of His incredible best for us.

And those paths often include pain.

In the middle of excruciating pain of spirit or body or mind, it is difficult to reconcile that this is being allowed by Him and that somehow He is working it for our best.

But He is.

And every so often He gives me a glimpse of "the best" that He is working.
And that gives me just enough hope to weather the next painful season.

My God is not capricious. My God is not cruel. My God does not rejoice in evil. My God is not a god of darkness. My God is not far-off. My God is not frivolous. My God does not tease.

He is kind.
He is loving.
He is good.
He is light.
He is here.
He is involved.
He is in control.
He is sincere.
He is restoring.
He is redeeming.

This is my God.

When He does not move the way I had hoped, I lift my eyes. I ask for the eyes to see the beauty and redemption of the plan He is unfolding. And I ask for the grace and strength to embrace His ways over my own.



I ask for the grace and strength to embrace His ways over my own.



And I ask again and again until I can walk with a submissive spirit the path He has laid out.