Waiting for His Words

To all the little boys and their families seeking refuge across the world today.

He raises the poor from the dust and lifts the needy from the ash heap. 

Psalm 113: 7

 

The Spirit of the Lord God is upon me, because the Lord has anointed me to bring good news to the poor, he has sent me to bind up the broken-hearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives, and the opening of the prison to those who are bound; to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor, and the day of vengeance of our God; to comfort all who mourn; to grant those who mourn in Zion—to give them a beautiful headdress instead of ashes, the oil of gladness instead of mourning, the garment of praise instead of a faint spirit. 

Isaiah 61:1-3

I am deep in my writing space these days, seeking the Lord’s words for the broken-hearted, the poor, the mourning. Those who are in despair.

The chasm is wide, this canyon between tiny me and my massive, omnipotent, God. His thoughts are higher than mine. His ways unsearchable. His words so much more powerful than mine.

Yet I wait, listening, at His gates.

He is the God who speaks in darkness, who gives treasures out of suffering, that we may know that it is He, the Lord God, who calls us each by name. He has life-words, treasure-words, for the hurting, the oppressed. Words that command light in darkness. Words that call into being that which was not only moments before.

God speaks words that strengthen the weak heart, lift the drooping head, illuminate eyes dim with sorrow. #encouragement Share on X

In a few short days, I will stand before a gathering at the epicenter of the refugee highway, delivering these Light Words.

I hope they see Him in His glory, not me. Hear His words, not mine.

This morning as I waited for Him, He reminded me of an afternoon in September 2015. I sat at a different desk that day than I do now. I was ensconced in the comfort of my personal writing retreat, the one I created upstairs in my home, a place filled with buttery light and surrounded by objects of comfort and inspiration. I was settled among friends and family, in a community of people much like me. 

A picture came across my screen, a photo of a little boy lying facedown on the beach of a resort town in Turkey. He was only three years old. He drowned escaping terror in his home country of Syria. Later, it was reported that his five-year-old brother also drowned.

The picture that jarred the world shook me to the core. I lay across my desk and sobbed. As I poured out my lament, I poured out my life. 

Use me to serve them, Lord. 

It was a defining moment for me. I did not how He would allow me to serve, but I knew He had accepted my offer.

Today I am a sojourner. The beautiful things that decorated my writing retreat so long ago have been given away, my house sold. My family’s remaining possessions are packed in a small container, waiting for the day we settle and can put them in a new home. I live out of one suitcase, and it is enough for now.

But I have His words, and all the suitcases in the world could not contain them.

The family who now hosts us has a little three-year-old son who delights us every day. He runs to me, I teach him a phrase, then he runs to his mother and tells her.

“Mamai, you are pretty!”

The peals of laughter and sheer delight he brings as he collects words and delivers them are filling our souls with joy.

He lingers just beside me, his big brown eyes sparkling, waiting for new words to deliver.

My little friend is a picture to me, a picture of who I want to be with my Lord. Running to Him, collecting His words, then delivering them. Laughing with joy as souls are encouraged and strengthened. Lingering close by, waiting for His words again.

This is a job I can do.

Lord, use me to serve the broken. Whisper Your words to me so I may deliver them to those who need them today. Amen.

@audreycfrank

Photo by Patrick Fore on Unsplash