Isn’t it a funny thing that the moments we wait for with such anticipation arrive feeling so “normal”? Weddings, the birth of children, the last day of a long held job, the final chemo treatment- the moments that mark life forever– tend to steal in like a Christ child in a manger, rather than strut like Kings with heralds.
So it should come as no surprise to me that I sit here cross-legged on my familiar ’60s vinyl couch, with the warm weight of my weathered laptop on my knees, and an unspeakably important story on my mind.
I’ve dreamed for 15 months about what it would be like to release the message that I’d been healed. That my intractable disease (AS) had whimpered and run. And that my Night had been shattered and capsized in the glittering waters of Dawn.
Now that the time for words has come, I feel shy.
You may have noticed that I haven’t exactly been blazing up the blogosphere, or really saying much in any format at all. It’s been a quiet gestation.
Luke tells us that when Zechariah brought the angel’s message home to old Elizabeth (some guess her to be in her eighties at the time), and his words were fulfilled in her womb, she sat in secret for 5 months- just letting the miracle grow, until the fullness of the times and the roundness of her belly were the same.
The story I’m carrying has been forming in the quiet, not because I wanted to hide, but because often the holiest things render us most silent. And besides that, the last chapters are still unfolding. Like Elizabeth, my miracle is still growing. And with the unfinishedness comes uncertainty. So, the temptation is to silence.
But, there’s an invitation on the table with my name on it. The Lord has held out His hand and asked something of me…to climb Moriah and offer there a sacrifice of words. To lay the Promise out in full view, to be poked and examined, while the ram is rustling behind me, not quite yet caught in the thicket.
But, the joy of honoring Him eclipses the fear of looking a fool– and there is a fear in me about telling this truth. The story I carry has an air of the fantastic about it. It’s tinged with the supernatural, and sounds at points…well, in-credible.
But the thing is that I believe every word of it. Shayne and I have gotten a ringside side to something truly amazing, and I’m hushed at the privilege.
So, as a gift to My Dear Author-Maker-Love-Friend-Father-Savior-Helper, I’ll finally lead it into the pool of light- this thing that was fearfully and wonderfully made in secret- a thrilling story of triumph and pain, of frustrated longing, and words whispered, of joy and delight, and hope…and healing.
The moment has come to join Elizabeth on the doorstep in her maternity clothes.
It’s a long and complex journey…and believe it or not, I’m going to give you the short version in 7 installments over the course of the week.
I’ve told you before how I started on this Gerson Therapy journey, and I’ve told you of the trouble of the middle road, but I never have I dared to tell you how it ends. And that is where we begin. Look for the beginning at first light tomorrow.
[ps…you’ll understand the image of the shoes when we set off in the morning]