Or rather, I can't.
God, that is. I haven't felt Him lately. I haven't even remembered that I haven't felt Him.
I know it's time for a God encounter, to step into that bedchamber, just He and I. To feel His warmth, Spirit breath, searching me out. It's only been a day or so, but that's too long. I miss Him the way I miss my husband. I crave His touch, I crave the Power. I crave the Love.
I remember life being lived not even knowing about God encounters. Me, the life-long Christian, had no idea what it was like to be in His presence. Prayer was short, shallow, demanding. It danced along the edges of eternity never really stepping into that Glorious Abyss. I didn't know the Abyss existed.
I remember life being lived when months and months and months went by without a God encounter. Jesus and I had our first time together, and it was so powerful I didn't tell anyone for fear they think me mad.
Even though this was madness I truly wanted, the madness the Bible talks about. I still wasn't sure I was ready to embrace being a "peculiar people".
Life went on, the heaviness of parenting autism fell upon me, and I forgot.
I forgot my first Love.
And so it was. Me, the life I thought mattered, and no Abyss. No Jesus depth to fall into.
And then He took her. My daughter.
*
*
*
I had two choices.
Either I fall into my own abyss, the bad kind, the one that seemed effortless and was practically begging me to let it wash me away. Darkness, bitterness, anger. They all tried to seduce me. I wanted to go with them.
Or I fall into Jesus. His deep love, so deep I wouldn't find the bottom. Endless, swimming in Spirit and never wanting to come up for air. This Abyss was full of Light. It promised freedom. I wanted to be free.
The choice might seem difficult to some, obvious to others. But the sacrifice required of me to be able to fall into Jesus Abyss, to be able to return to my first Love, to be able to have a God encounter again? It was vital. It was terrifying. It had to happen.
So I chose His deep waters, His marvelous Light, I swim and I float and I don't miss the darkness.
Sometimes that darkness tries to steal me, tries to lie to me saying its quiet, dry, evil ways are easier and more satisfying.
But then I have another encounter, the Jesus-took-my-breath-away-again, kind of encounter. And it's the opposite of dry. And I feel the glorious angst of the Skin Prison, and I know.
This is what He wanted all along.
by Arianne, To Think Is To Create
Leave a Comment
Barbie says
This is absolutely beautiful. I too want to fall into his arms of love and get lost in the depth of it. I just read the story of your precious daughter. Thank you for being a living testimony of the faithful, never-ending love of God. Blessings!
Mary Joy @Seeds of Encouragement Sewn with Grace says
I love what you said here…
“So I chose His deep waters, His marvelous Light, I swim and I float and I don’t miss the darkness.”
Amen, sister! Thank you for sharing your heart with us this day…I am praying for you!
Christine says
Thank you Adrianne for being willing to share such personal and private struggles. I can’t tell you how much reading these always helps me to know my spiritual aches and pains are experienced by others too. I pray for your continued strength in dealing with the loss of your beautiful girl.
Samantha @ Mama Notes says
I’m so sorry for your loss. May you feel God’s presence around you… thank you for sharing your story!
Joy @ Joy In This Journey says
That’s exactly it. Standing at the edge of two different chasms, wondering which to fall into, which promises to believe, living many years without a God encounter. I keep trying to fall into Jesus, and the other chasm keeps trying to steal me away with its lies about freedom and independence and lack of suffering. But they are lies and that chasm leads to hell.
Mary @ Passionate Perseverance says
Thank you Adrianne. Thank you for being the voice of God to me this day. His arms are waiting, patiently planning that moment when we each may run straight into them for an eternity. Thank you for sharing Mabel with us and for allowing us to know her…just a little bit. Thank you for baring your soul helping me to see that I am not alone in my own. Thank you.
Jen Martinson says
Arianne, that was beautiful. I could so relate. I know this loss. I know about the dark stealing me too. Then I have an encounter and I just want to stay there in His presence.
Be Blessed~
Jenny says
i need a God encounter…
Katie says
The story of your daughter is beautiful. You have an amazing gift of writing, thank you for honoring our Lord by sharing it with the rest of us. It is so encouraging.
Chrystie says
A truly beautiful post. Loved this!
Teske @ Mommies with Hope says
Thank you for sharing your heart and your daughter with us. I too know the pain of such loss. Through it all, God is still good. Amen!? Blessings,
Teske
Kelly Langner Sauer says
Do you ever feel that you write what you know, and it barely touches the longing in you, even though you’re trying to answer it…?
I’m here, waiting my own, pushing it off, half-inviting it, trying not to be afraid. He knows.
Musings of a Housewife says
Your writing moves me to tears every. single. time. I am so blessed to know you. 🙂
Musings of a Housewife says
No, that’s not it. I mean, your writing DOES move me to tears, but it’s your HEART that I adore. ((hug))
Kelly @ Love Well says
Just reading these words brings the shadow of His Glory into my laptop.
I believe you are echoing the Psalmist who said, “Better is one day in Your house than thousands elsewhere.” Because to be in God’s house is to be in His presence. To live there is heaven. Literally.
I love life today, for it is a gift. But a future like that? It overwhelms.
Melissa | Madabella: made beautiful says
Yes…there is no greater rest, no greater satisfaction, no greater longing that can be fulfilled but in His presence. Indeed, “better is one day in His house than thousands elsewhere.” I need to remember this when I am tempted to jump into shallow waters…
beautiful post.
Owlhaven (Mary Ostyn) says
Thanks, Arianne!
Love, Mary
McKt says
Every word, amazing. Choosing to draw near to him and him drawing near to us. Amazing.
Jennifer says
Beautiful post. I, too, can relate to being a life-long Christian but someone missing those precious encounters with Him. Thank you for the reminder to put Him first.
cwaltz says
My faith was a comfort to me in my loss. Because I knew that it meant I was only saying goodbye for a little while. Yes, part of me aches from time to time. I’ve never got the time heals thing, my son has been gone 15 years and there are still days where the pain is sharp. Other days when I examine things it seems surreal and like another person’s lifetime. Then I realize it is ANOTHER person’s lifetime because the loss profoundly changed who I was. I’m different. Not the same.
The abyss says
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