The dead in me

I've been feeling very heavy of late. Weighed down and pushed around. I've been feeling very alone and adrift away from God. Most of it is probably the way I've been feeling chronically sick since pretty much Thanksgiving. Some of it is winter, and the way the darkness seeps into the darkest places of my heart and settles in for the long haul.
Some of it is old news. Old wrestling matches with demons that I've been slaying again and again since I fell in love with Jesus almost seven years ago.

But I'm realizing that this heavy feeling, this weighed down feeling almost always precedes an intense period of closeness to God. A period of renewal and growth. I can't figure out the swing of this, and I'm not sure I'm meant to.

I was pruning this potted plant I have. Some dear friends gave it to me over a year ago as a housewarming gift. It's the first potted plant I have ever kept alive this long. Ever. Bobbie told me the trick is to not over water it or under water it of course, but she also told me to prune it. To pull the dead leaves off. Because the plant will naturally focus all of it's nutrients and attention towards the dying leaves and even the dead parts to try to bring them back to life. But what ends up happening is the rest of the plant also begins to die because the viable leaves, the parts that could make it are being deprived of the nutrients they need.

Often when I'm stuck in the mire of this dark before the dawn I feel the need to pick and poke. To spend a lot of my time sitting and thinking about the depression, the anger, the hurt to get it out of my system. My m.o. has been to pay the darkness some attention in hopes of seeing it through to the end and getting on with the business of living.
But what ends up happening is the tentacles of darkness reach into my heart and grab on with a strength I am always surprised by. Oh, I need to address the demons and take them to the foot of the cross, but I also need to not pay them more attention then I ought.
It's a tension I'm not used to living in. A fine line I haven't yet learned to walk. But I'm beginning to see more clearly a kind of balance that is sustainable and livable.
As I'm seeing that balance I'm beginning to see that there is someone else that is coming along to prune the dead from me. Someone else that is removing that which is stealing the nutrients from the living parts of me. Someone that is raising the dead in me.

I want to see miracles, see the world change
Wrestled the angel, for more than a name
For more than a feeling
For more than a cause
I'm singing Spirit take me up in arms with You
And You're raising the dead in me -24 Hours Switchfoot

1 comment:

Pete said...

Such a great comparison between life and the potted plant.

I'm always amazed at how you tie these things together in such a beautiful and meaning way.