His Still Whisper

This week I prayed for one who had taken her life. I do not know her name. I do not know her story. Questions fly. Why? How could she? Didn't she know? I could only bow my head to pray. For her hurting family. For her children.

I don't know her story.

But like so many others, I may know part of her pain. Hopelessness. Fear. Anxiety. Depression. Emotions so heavy and real. And so separate from any particular circumstance or event. They just are.

Early this morning in the quiet pre-dawn, fear hung over me like a too-small cloak, choking off my air supply. There wasn't a name for this fear, a cause. It just was. Maybe that is why it is so fearsome. When you can name something, you have a handle for it. When it is simply a sense of dread, running thick over you... clinging, its very elusiveness terrifies.

Who to call when you can't put a name to things? Pride moves in right alongside the terror, whispering lies. If I tell someone, they just won't get it. Who to tell that won't hide quiet disdain? Who to tell that won't give well-meaning but unproductive advice? That's what fear and pride do...get you all alone. They create a space where they can grow bigger and bigger.

This morning fear hung over me like a too-small cloak. But I pried a corner of the cloak away as I sat down to journal my thoughts to a God who seemed very distant and completely removed. My view of Him was all but gone, the giants of fear and pride looming large right in front of me. Yet, I pulled the corner of the cloak as I sat down to communicate with a God I couldn't feel in that moment.

I poured out my questions and thoughts. I cried tears of helplessness. Why can't I just pray this away? Why do I fight this all-encompassing battle with anxiety over and over and over again? If I was a better Christian. If I was a better person. If I did more. If I did less. If. If. If. Crying out to my Abba-Daddy, lump in my throat, hands clutching my pen and journal.

Spent, I opened my Bible app on my phone, and the verse of the day jumped out at me as if it was in neon flashing lights.

1 Peter 5: 8-9
Stay alert! Watch out for your great enemy, the devil. He prowls around like a roaring lion looking for someone to devour. Stand firm against him, and be strong in your faith. Remember that your Christian brothers and sisters all over the world are going through the same kind of suffering you are.

Feeling like the too-tight cloak had slipped off one shoulder and breath was coming a little easier, I opened to my readings for the day.

In the Old Testament, I was revisiting Elijah in 1 Kings 19. But that living and active Word meant something different to me today then all the other times I had read it. Elijah, after receiving God's amazing provision and revelation was now running scared from the evil Jezebel. I must sheepishly admit in the past when I've read this account, I've thought to myself, "Elijah! Seriously! God has shown you how He can provide and yet you are going to run scared from this woman?" Today, this thought didn't enter my mind. I was in a place of understanding fear. Of not being able to see past the looming shadow of fear. Today as I read, I was instead floored by the compassion God showed Elijah.

After running all day, Elijah sets down under a tree and prays to die.
Oh how my heart aches for this man. I feel his hopelessness and fear and the dropping to the knees and the crying "just take me!"

And he sleeps. And he is twice woken by an angel who urges him to eat and drink both times, preparing him for a journey. A Father meeting His child's physical needs.

He journeys to Mount Sinai, somehow sustained by this food and drink, though it is a forty day trip. When he gets there, he cries out to the Lord, telling Him why he has run. He cries out his fear. He cries out the unfairness of serving the Lord and yet meeting the fate Jezebel would mete out to him.
The Lord's response always brings tears to my eyes, especially today as God met me there in my need.

1 Kings 19: 11-13
"Go out and stand before me on the mountain," the Lord told him. And as Elijah stood there, the Lord passed by, and a mighty windstorm hit the mountain. It was such a terrible blast that the rocks were torn loose, but the Lord was not in the wind. After the wind there was an earthquake, but the Lord was not in the earthquake. And after the earthquake there was a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire. And after the fire there was the sound of a gentle whisper. When Elijah heard it, he wrapped his face in his cloak and went out and stood at the entrance to the cave.

I imagine the God of the universe, the Creator of the universe, revealing Himself to a scared man. And I imagine Him revealing Himself in a gentle whisper. A Father meeting His child's heart needs. And I cry tears turned to joy because He is mighty. But He is gentle. He is my Father. And I am His child. He is patient. And kind. He cares. And I cry just because I needed to know that today.

Though I can share the words that I spoke this morning. And I can share the passages in His Word He spoke soft over me, I don't know that I can convey the feeling of His presence. How I felt. Helpless down on my knees, worn and weary. But met by God. In that place of need. He spoke so tangibly to me.

And I am grateful. The cloak slipped off my shoulders, and I'm now breathing in full, sweet gulps of life-giving air. I am clothed, not by ill-fitting cloaks never meant for me to wear, but instead I am covered by my Father's hand. The fear and pride simply shadows in the background overshadowed by the shelter of my Father's wing.

I don't know the story of the woman who took her life. I don't know her exact pain. Why she felt helpless. Maybe her pain didn't have a name either, it just loomed big and heavy and fearsome, breathing hot and unrelenting on her neck. Maybe she was simply so tired and worn, one more day didn't seem possible. But I pray for her. And I pray for her family. And I pray for my Brothers and Sisters out in this world who face fear and helplessness and hopelessness. I pray for them to find the shelter of God Most High. That they would feel, instead of the shadows of fear and death, the shadow of His wing.