“When the river runs away, I find a shelter in Your Name. Jesus.”
~ Fernando Ortega in “Sleepless Night”
I remember what if felt like to be a little girl.
Sitting at the table of my desk.
Writing hard into the pages of my journal.
Because there was no other place for me to be.
No other place to hear my thoughts and seek some sort of answer in the silence. My heart poured out in ink — like the first waters of spring trickling down through moss, rock, and dirt as you walk by and notice the trail is suddenly moist and soft.
I know now, that the door that closed me in the darkness of my bedroom wasn’t the only door that shut me into my aloneness.
The door of my heart was where I hid behind, where I placed all my anxious thoughts and concealed them deep within.
So, that I could step out into this world with brightness, to smile, explore and find my way.
I needed a place to put away the things that felt childish, needy, and wanting.
I was ready to grow up, to find my place in this world.
I believed that was where Jesus wanted me.
Out there, somewhere, I believed Jesus was calling me —
to leave who I was,
so I could become who He wanted me to be.
But, now I’m hearing a different Voice speaking beside me.
Before The Red Sun Rises
I’m still here, Bonnie.
I haven’t left you alone.
I remember you.
His voice is very still.
But, I know it is Him.
Because I feel my heart flutter an aching dip — deep in a place where only His voice can reach.
My lips begin to quiver and I say His name.
I close my eyes, and a sleepless night clings to me yet again.
Long before the red sun rises.*
Even though Easter is this very week.
I feel the guilt of how I am not feeling the freedom that I know is wholly mine.
Don’t let me hide any longer.
Help me find my full voice. I’m so afraid.
Because it is hidden behind closed doors.
Life On The Other Side
I get up, bare feet cold against the kitchen floor. I warm up a bowl of soup.
I sip and sit, the steam rising from my spoon, illuminated by the low lights turned on over the sink.
I begin to type, journaling onto a glowing screen, as I don’t know what else to do.
And as I do, I feel so very lonely there in the dark.
And in that very moment, when I’m slipping into the rush of my worries, a thought takes me to a scene with the disciples.
They are locked in room.
They cannot sleep either.
Unable to fathom what life would look like on the other side of the door.
They are afraid.
At a loss for words.
Yet, their hearts and minds were overrun by questions of now-what, what-if, how, when, who and why.
But, still, there is no easy way out.
Even though Peter and John had both seen the linens discarded in the tomb. They too had retreated behind closed doors.
They’ve never gone this way before.
They were so sure, so confident of the way Jesus was leading them.
Now, uncertainty is all that seems to consumes them.
So all alone.
How Jesus Comes
This is how He comes to them.
Jesus comes to them — not just behind closed doors.
The doors were locked.
This is how I imagine Jesus came and quietly stood beside them.
With eyes of compassion and a heart bursting to touch them, Jesus whispers — “Peace to you!”
And what was the first thing Jesus does?
Jesus shows them his hands and his side.
Jesus shows them his wounds.
I don’t know why I did what I did next, exactly. But, I felt moved to get off my chair.
I knelt on the floor.
With the taste of soup still swimming in my mouth, I press my face into the palms of my hands.
And I begin to cry.
I imagine Jesus right there in front of me.
Bending, crouching over me.
As I show him my wounds.
And I cry and I cry, as waves of memory upon memory push through my heart.
Each time I’d stop because I wanted to go back to hiding my heart, I’d picture Jesus again.
Showing me his wounds.
On His hands.
And His side.
And the tears would begin again.
Because I would remember what I’ve forgotten —
how much I longed for the touch of His hands on mine,
how much I’d give anything to be pressed into His side,
so I could feel the weight of His robes and His arms around me then.
Where We Can Hide
After some time there, I needed to get up and find the Kleenex.
I know Jesus came to me that night, as He once did 2,000 years ago.
And I am so grateful.
Because He continues to come to me now.
Even through locked doors.
Jesus knows how to enter. Even if I don’t.
Jesus is the name I can call on.
Jesus is my hope through the storm.
He is the shelter — where I can hide.
And you can too.
“On the evening of that first day of the week, when the disciples were together,
with the doors locked for fear…
Jesus came and stood among them and said, ‘Peace be with you!”’
After he said this, he showed them his hands and side.”
~ John 20:19-20a
How is Jesus coming to you this Easter?
Where are you when you call on His Name?
Where is that you hide — when you think the door is closed — and Jesus comes to you?
Is it a song, a place, a time or are you walking, writing, painting or singing?
Pull up a chair. Click to comment. Take a moment to share. In doing so, Jesus comes alive.
Easter in us — in me and in you. Jesus in us. Right here. Right now.
Join Bonnie and faith friends on her blog, Faith Barista , as she continues her journey through post-traumatic stress, as they travel the journey of faith together, swapping stories one moment at a time.
Photo Credit: atasteofsummer via Photobucket.com