The Business of Rescue

    The thing about packing up a house is that all kinds of stuff surfaces. Long-neglected dust bunnies, dried bits of food on couch cushions, old letters and hard memories.

I have to be honest here. I’m all for a good soul cleansing, but when it comes in the middle of trying to get rid of most of our belongings (an incredibly emotional process on its own, by the way), it leaves me feeling a little overwhelmed. Ok, a lot overwhelmed.

The other day I was driving to my sister’s house to spend time with her before my family heads to Papua New Guinea and hers moves to Thailand, and I was feeling the weight of “too much”.

Too much to do.

Too much to remember.

Too many decisions.

Too many goodbyes.

Too many painful memories of bad choices and broken, tender places.

I know there are better ways to talk to God than to growl at him, but in that moment it was all I had. So I growled at the Creator of the universe and spilled my honest anger at his feet. I don’t like how this feels. I don’t like having to sell all our furniture and pack away memories while dealing with my kids’ grief and wrestling through old wounds. This isn’t easy! It just isn’t easy…

And then there it was in the sky. First a slight arc of color, then longer and brighter until it was one of the most vivid rainbows I’ve ever seen. And then there was a second stretched pastel above the first, and I could barely breathe.

His Spirit pressed into mine and whispered, “I’m not in the business of making things easy. I’m in the business of rescue.”

Rescue doesn’t always feel good. Sometimes it’s muddy and scary and violent, and there are parts of being set free that feel a little more like death. Old memories that need to be caught and held to the light, old ways of thinking that need to be broken and reset like a poorly healed bone.

Like a warrior, God fights passion-fueled for our freedom. Like a surgeon, he cuts deep until we bleed and heal. Like a gentle shepherd, he pursues our wandering hearts and cradles us safe.

He lifts us above the flood and stretches out his promise not to destroy.

And, strong and steady, he leads us out of our wreckage and into life.