Faithful

A song to read by.

I’ve been charged with curating a charter. I’ve been donned with a discipline and duty. And I mustn’t fail. I’ve been ladened with a legacy and blood-stained by a story of redemption that I must rehearse as I go along. I hold the door handle to a dwelling which I must open again and again and again and climb back into the knowledge of this Kingdom of marvelous, matchless mirth when uncertainty and anxiety wins a temporary battle in me. I’ve been given a weighty wonder which I must learn to ponder and today I do. I will steward the wonder, if I am wise.

I drove east this morning on the interstate flanked with trees. It is Sunday. The leaves have mostly fallen, and the nakedness is familiar. I have no trouble remembering the fullness and the glory of trees clothed with golden and ruddy finery reaching their autumnal climax. They called us out of our houses onto roads and trails, to mountains and back yards so we could be, again, amazed. It was only a week or so ago. I remember them easily too in their springtime-waking when the air was moist and expectant. They were unrecognizable, hidden inside those crafty buds until loosening, unveiling like shining, green scrolls opening with fresh adjectives tumbling out to become emerald flags of declaration waving with new breezes. I’m not afraid to see the nakedness. It does not alarm me though the trees will be bare for some time. I know how this goes.

I remember.

I remember.

It’s easy.

I’ve looked out tall windows season after season to see four massive oak trees full of greenery and vigor and age, and I’ve heard the bomb of a lightning strike that took one down in a storm. I lived when all was going quite right for me only to later crash to the bathroom floor desperate to know that seemingly barren, leafless season in life would pass. Haven’t we all?

And I’ve seen His hand move for the benefit of my life. I’ve seen Him act for those I love. I’ve seen Him heal, help, and hold on to me. Like the autumn glory, it was glorious too. Yet, when a brand-new distress blows through, and its wind sounds different and fiercer than before I must reach for my handhold. I must visit my altars of remembrance, I must take inventory of the manna, the budding rod, and the tablets of stone. I must stir my heart and remember who He is and what He has done for me–for all of us.

I must remember.

I must remember. He is faithful.

So common it can be and how easily I can lose my eyes’ aim and glance away from the adoring gaze set on the acts of His kindness towards me, the things I’ve seen, the things I’ve heard, the knowing I hold so dear. He has done great things for me, lifted me from pits of agony over a wayward child and made big promises to me. He has upheld my life when Hell would come to crush it, He breathed words and notions into a voiceless woman, atrophied from years of silence, shame and self-doubt. He has healed a broken heart and restored a dream, and He has been perfectly faithful to me.

I must always remember and not relent.

I must always remember.

It is up to me to remember, to recall all that is dear, real and able to carry me from faith to greater faith. I must steward this wonder. He is faithful. He always has been, and He will always be. He will never ever, no, never stop being wonderful to me.

He has defined His relationship with me both in word and deed, and I wish to define mine too. But if ever I forget, if the nakedness alarms me and I lose my heart’s resting place forgetting the benefits of whose I am, forgetting what He’s done, if I suddenly freefall into fear He. will. remind. me. again. He has done it before because He is always faithful.