This week’s been a good week for Jess Ray in my headphones.
Her music has struck a chord in me recently, but this particular past week I’ve drawn heavily on the truth in her music along with drinking my coffee in the morning, to orient myself toward what is good: the Lord’s love, his 100% trustworthy promises to me, and the hope for each day living in that peace. Her music is spoon-feeding me what I do not have the heart to hear any other way right now.
Come as you are, that’s how I want you
I’ve recently been drawn sharply out of a previously-undisturbed homeostasis that hasn’t included God as much as I wanted it to, which mainly consisted of sleeping as late as possible, rushing out the door, a nonstop workday, driving home, doing house things and people things, and forgetting to go to bed at a good time — in which I left out room for stopping to consider how loved I am, and how Jesus has made that, as sweet friend Julia says, “the truest thing about me.”
Today, you are loved, and that’s really all that matters
Sure, there have been moments of fresh air when I escape those patterns, the same five streets I drive and the same projects and responsibilities, like when I went to the mountains a month ago. Those moments terrify me in their clarity. It makes the daily rhythm feel like less than living was meant to be. But I can’t live on top of Mount Pisgah any more than I could live in my bed for the rest of my life. I have to spend it in between.
Wipe the tears away from your eyes / drive the fear away from your mind /
You have no idea how safe you really are
This week, the whole world feels scary. It feels too big for me to find a place where I can be safe from being hurt, too big for any of my dreams to stick to something and matter. The house I moved to has creaks and shadows I can’t trust yet. I anticipate rejection in every interaction.
A rising panic begins to drum in my ears and it sucks the joy out of favorite coffee shops, where I now feel exposed instead of hidden away. It’s a very naive thing, to seek safety in bookstores, and feel known by a familiar chair or comforted by a familiar smell.
Those comforts? They’re good. But they’re not strong enough to hold fast to when I am aching and anxious and looking for answers. I need a far more real comfort, the steady rhythm of peace in my identity as a child of God, where I am always safe and wanted.
Your little heart will never quite learn the dimensions of my love
I believe in a God who designed patterns, and who also tells me of moving mountains. I trust a God who will take me through each day as it comes, in its pattern, and interrupt me with grace when I pause for even a second.
I am loved by a God who promises his presence as the answer to every tearful question, frustrating assignment, and deep longing. And that’s all that really matters.