Reset: A fresh start. A return to zero.
We humans reset our clocks & lottery jackpots,
bowling pins & broken bones,
odometers, iPhones & circuit breakers,
alarms, passwords & user names,
devices & diamonds & letterpress type.
I’ve been sick for 100 days. I am undergoing a reset. Disease has streamlined my life. Food, elimination, exercise, rest—I feel pared down to the basics. Vulnerable as a newborn.
Painfully aware of Self.
- Self-interest
- Self-pity
- Self-deception
To name a few.
God seems to be tinkering with my innermost clockwork.
A God who is beyond great, must, by definition, work in ways that are beyond our understanding.
So says Ann Voskamp.
I believe I’ll recover—perhaps with a new normal. But for now grace meets me, again and again, despite my ailing body’s fussy demands and dismal, unending commentary. Grace inches open a door.
Like the evening I’m ladling out soup. Yet another bowl of bone broth. And the phone rings. My friend Robert must rush his wife to E.R. It’s 3:00 a.m. in England and all their friends are asleep. Will I pray?
Love and compassion ignite. Purpose courses through me. I’m needed—by someone a continent away. God moves in their lives and in mine as well. Hope shimmers, a devotional reset.
O I could tell you so many 100-day stories!
Instead, fresh off the altar, here’s a new song, fitting for resurrection week. My gifted friend Bryan Bogue composed the music, and I wrote the lyrics.
NO MORE SORROW
Another night is gone, and nothing like the dawn seems to be breaking.
You lie in bed and pray, just aching for that final day of waking
light years from here, beyond all fear.
Faith used to be so clear; now it’s elusive as a cure.
Nothing feels sure.
When clouds look like a bruise, and early morning news inflames your spirit,
the steep and winding Way feels more remote each day, and still you choose it.
Bodies grow frail, and memories fail.
Passions wax cold and stale. Ready your mind, your soul, your core.
Here’s what’s in store . . .
No more sorrow. No If onlys. Lonely nights will cease.
No more weeping. Grieving wanes as pain gives way to peace.
The world looks on and jeers, the fleeting gift of years can be deceiving.
Our pipe dreams run aground and don’t always rebound. We stop believing.
Vanities pall, as empires sprawl,
prey on the weak and small.
Call to mind promises foretold. Rise and take hold . . .
No more sorrow. No If onlys. Lonely nights will cease.
No more weeping. Grieving wanes as pain gives way to peace.
No more sorrow. No tomorrow cancels grace today.
God will stroke each lifted face and wipe each tear away.
No more sorrow, Solace calls. Lift your face as mercy falls . . .
How long has this homely garden gnome kissed the dirt? Someone seems pretty lax in their landscaping.
