I asked for some “real” winter weather for Christmas, and my wish was granted in full. Shortly after arriving at Grandma’s today, the misty rain began to fall as frozen BBs which later feathered into snowflakes. The atmosphere proved complete with the characteristic loss of electricity. Someone please tell me what mischievous imp made off with my mind while I packed for a traditional “white Christmas” and persuaded me I wouldn’t need snow clothes?
Were I to record the entire day, it would simply be a repetition of wasted time. I wasted time ineffectually trying to set up the free dial-up e-mail I’d ordered for the Willises, and only managed to fit in one Christmas Carol with Tabitha. I wasted time watching a “Christian Comedy” DVD with my family. For the few moments of stellar humor there was plenty of coarse jesting, irreverence and making light of serious things. Have I simply grown boring? One thing I know for sure: I am bored. I am bored with the entertainment industry, with constant noise, with news that glorifies sin by plastering it up for us to gape at. I have enough sin of my own. Why do I need to be constantly reminded of the vices of a world that grieves my Master?
And yet, I seem equally bored with my God’s holy word. I’ve been slogging through Ezekiel for days now, desperately trying to find something in the book that I can relate to, that speaks to me of God, my Father, trying to fathom a man who appeared to his countrymen as a religious freak. I read, I scratch my head, I reread, I pull my hair, I read, I reread again, I would bite my nails if that were one of my many nasty habits. This man bakes weird bread, lies on his side naked, watches dry bones rejuvenated and speaks of blood and guts. In this valley of dry bones, God says to me, “Abigail, can your spirit breathe again? Can your spirit live again to delight in my word again?” And I answer, “Ah, Lord God, for only You know.” And then it happens—the rush of wind, the whisper of breath through my soul. Suddenly the constant noise and motion of the TV in the other room has lost it’s deceptive pull, suddenly I know that Ezekiel was written for me. Even in my spiritual draught, the Lord can revive me and make me a warrior for Him. And with His power flowing through me, I don’t mind be weird. I don’t mind being called to do weird things. I don’t mind being made a spectacle of. In light of God’s glory, I can devour His word, and it will be as sweet as honey to me.
Lord, when I have lost the vision
‘Tis not Thou who needs revision
‘Tis my heart that needs reviving.
Only Thou can so enliven.
So I pray that Thou would breathe
Into my draught so I believe
That all Thy word is all I need
And come to Thee again, to feed.