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semi colon

Almost 8 weeks ago I laid on an operating room table oblivious to the fact they had cut my breastbone in half, laid out my heart and lungs to a machine to keep me alive while they grafted three arteries in bypass on my heart.  My husband is fond of telling me I have a renewed heart. Yes darling in more ways than you can know.  My hubby sees it through not only a physical but spiritual process.  Bless him for the encourager he is.  I love you honey.

I struggled to find God anywhere in this whole mess.  I thought my God, you have to have given me something in all of the things that have happened to bring me to this point, on this day, in this operating room .  I have loved you through all the garbage – where are you now? But I felt empty, confused and truthfully just plain worn out from the fight.  I didn’t care if I came through or not.  I have never spoken that out loud because looking back from this side of it, I never had a choice in any of it. I wasn’t scared. I was just plain tired physically, emotionally and spiritually of all the battles.

All I remember is the darkness.  It was black.  A void – a place so dark I could not move or see or I think even begin to fathom the depth of.  Yet I remember it vividly.  I remember the dark.  Some of my friends asked me, I think expecting me to have this testimony of an encounter, you know, the white light thingy.  Instead – it was dark.  Not a fearful dark but a dark that I could feel.  A dark that I could sense was not hurting me but keeping at bay a fiery enemy.  The dark was protective and surrounded me on all sides.  It was a peaceful dark. And I was wide awake in it.

I am reminded of all the teachings about “out of the darkness comes light” and “darkness is the absence of light”.  All I have ever heard is there is light.  And yet, I am alive today standing to say that there is a darkness that is healing.  There is a darkness that puts us in a place of waiting to be risen just as Jesus was.  His body laid in the dark three days.  I only laid in the dark for 7 hours.  No, there was more. There is a whole two weeks of my life that I cannot remember but bits and pieces of.  A whole two weeks that the darkness seemed to be holding me in it clutches.  I began to fear the dark was not healing but stealing my resurrection.

At home all I could do while laying in agony and darkness in my recliner was to keep repeating John 1.  I remember so clearly from the dark  repeating over and over “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God and the word was God”.  Was I crying out for Jesus? Coming out of the dark back into the light? My own form of resurrection?I felt as if I was graping at empty space. Reaching for the unreachable.

Throughout this journey, which looks to be a long one, I have searched and not found answers for the ever present why’s that we live with today.  All I know today, at this moment, is that I was held in the dark for His reason and as I resurface to the light and sanity – the answers are being given to me slowly but ever so surely.  There is a resurrection in progress and I am praising God every day for that. He wants me to finish my story. He wants me to sing my song. He put me back here because He wasn’t done with me yet.

There is a story to be told. A song to be sung of grace and overwhelming love. It is my story and my song and He wasn’t done revealing it yet.  It has been written and I am but the character who acts out the story.  Seriously – did I really think I was in control?  More than a laughable thought I think.  Obviously God was trying to get me back to the storyline. I am here. I am alive. His choice.  He could have taken me home but he didn’t.  He put me back in this place for a reason that only He knows today.  What He is impressing on me at this time is that this is His story about me.  And because I have been like a petulant little child I am being put in timeout to wait. I don’t do timeout well.  I’d rather you just spank me and get it over and done with.  Nonetheless, there is a story and it isn’t over yet. And I will wait. My body is slowly healing. My emotions are coming back into alignment. My spirit is once again beginning to soar as I hear Him telling me there is another chapter to the story.  There is another verse to the song. And I will wait. The page will turn when He is ready.

There is a hymn that has come to mind often lately.  The title of this post is from the refrain.  This IS my story.  My story is every breath I take by His grace and mercy. This IS my song.  My song is sung through my hands on a keyboard.  Today that precious gift that He gave me had its own resurrection.  Thank you Heavenly Father.

Blessed assurance, Jesus is mine
Oh, what a foretaste of glory divine
Heir of salvation, purchase of God
Born of His spirit, washed in His blood

This is my story, this is my song
Praising my Savior all the day long
This is my story, this is my song
Praising my Savior all the day long

Perfect submission, perfect delight
Visions of rapture now burst on my sight
Angels descending bring from above
Echoes of mercy, whispers of love

This is my story, this is my song
Praising my Savior all the day long
This is my story, this is my song
Praising my Savior all the day long
Praising my Savior all the day long

Do you see the words to this song?

My story is there. Heir of salvation, purchase of God, born of His spirit, washed in His blood.  My song is there. Angels descending, echoes of mercy, whispers of love.

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