The Color of a Question

I love the Psalms. I love the language. I love the majesty. But mostly I love the gritty reality; the real and living emotion they embody.  I love the heart of the God Who was not afraid to record the angry dismay of His saints — the ones who brokenly asked “why”. No, nor was He afraid to trace the tears of His fainting ones — the ones too crushed to even wonder. And so, for every Peter who has whispered,”Go away from me Lord,” for every David who has cried out, “Look away from me, that I may smile again!” For every Mary who has wept with a voiceless sorrow, for every one of us who has wrestled hard in His hand, there is grace. There is peace. He knows how we pray when we are desperate and He knows how to hold us when we weep.

Perhaps there is no immediate answer to what you are facing — whether loss or regret, or one of those inevitable, inescapable seasons of life. Or maybe the color of your question is tinged with shades of other things; we all have our own unique hue. But He loves you, my friend. He loves you. His promise is the rainbow if only we endure the storm.

Maybe that’s it after all. Maybe we can only relish the splendor of the rainbow after the darkness of the storm. And maybe what we took for howling wind was really a holy round of hallelujahs — a chorus of praise from those far-off saints; the once trembling lips of broken sinners, now empowered with the sound of continual praise.

May it be so in us Lord. May it be so in us.