seeing the kindness of my God…..
s i sit here at my computer on this dark rainy morning, my heart is full of light.
you see, i met with Jesus today. and i can honestly say the time was sweet—sweeter than anything i’ve known in quite some time.
curled up on the couch with hot tea at my side, i continued in my reading of The Misery of Job and the Mercy of God. this is actually my second time through the book; i honestly can’t get enough of it.
i was reading where Job was once again meeting with God and pleading for the lives of his wayward children.
as i was reading, God used a portion of this particular poem to speak right to my heart. his message to me couldn’t have been clearer and i have to say i can’t remember the last time i’ve felt so connected to God.
before i share the poem with you, i want to give you a little background first…..you see, since my dad’s death just under 7 weeks ago, the one struggle i’ve had is with how God chose to take him. for nine years, i watched Alzheimers take my dad away from me, little by little, until he no longer knew his family, until he could no longer communicate. i watched him sit in a chair and stare off into space, almost in his own little world.
it was heart-wrenching to say the least.
the one part of my dad that i still had though was his physical body. i could at least hold his hand or kiss his forehead and know that he was in there somewhere.
but the day he died, i no longer had that anymore. and i just couldn’t seem to come to terms with all of that.
until today when i read this poem:
That morning, early, Job had gone
Alone with sheep and knife, at dawn,
To make his sacrifice. And while
He prayed, God put his heart on trial:
“O man of God, today again
You seek the precious lives of ten
Young souls. Now tell me, with your heart,
Would you be willing, Job, to part
With all your children, if in my
Deep counsel I should judge that by
Such severing more good would be,
And you would know far more of me?”
Job trembled at the voice, and fell
Before the bleeding lamb. “Compel
Me not, O God, to make this choice,
Between the wisdom of your voice
And these ten treasures of my life.
Far better I should take this knife
And mingle lamb’s blood with my own
Than put my children on this stone.
O God, have mercy on my seed.
I yield to what you have decreed.”
as i read the part that i highlighted, God spoke clearly to my heart.
he showed me that by severing my ties with my sweet dad, little by little over the course of those 9 long years, He wasn’t being unkind to me at all. but rather, he was preparing me to know more of Him.
God knew that losing my dad would bring me to my knees, which is where i needed to be.
you see, back when my dad first went into the nursing home 4 years ago, i felt empty inside and i couldn’t begin to understand what God was doing.
in fact, i questioned God. i shook my fist at God and begged him to heal my dad.
it was around that time someone introduced me to the book Trusting God by Jerry Bridges, and God used that book to change my perspective—and my life.
through reading that book, God helped me to see his sovereignty in a new light. he helped me to understand hs character and his deep love for me.
he helped me to see areas of my life that i had been holding tightly to, and he brought me to my knees in surrender.
he showed me what it was to really trust him and give him control of my life—every area of my life.
in the years since reading that book, and especially in the past year alone, God has revealed himself to me in a way that maybe wouldn’t have happended had my dad not been dying.
and today, for the very first time, i can honestly say that i wouldn’t trade the sweetness i share with Jesus for anything in the world.
can i just tell you what a peace i have to finally understand God’s divine purpose behind my dad’s long journey through alzheimers? it’s priceless…
and you know what else i realized? i realized that my dad would have gladly gone through this just to know that i found God—that i don’t just know God, but that i really know him and experience his sweetness.