I’m at the end of myself screamed the woman who desired a husband. I’m at the end of myself screamed the wife struggling deep within her heart. I’m at the end of myself screamed the mom exhausted in ways she could hardly explain. I’m at the end of myself screamed each one with burdens big and painful.And all the women screaming were shaking strong, tired fists and learning what sacrifice really meant. While differing heartache brought them here, they each sat in the wilderness just the same. When every women lost her voice there was nothing left to do, but seek Rest and pray for all this heaviness to depart.
So they built a fire, hot and orange, and it was hungry for everything. To be at the end of oneself is a strange and powerful gift. It is here where true life begins from the very seed of death. But it would be awhile before each women was fully convinced. Even still, the aching women knelt down with hearts almost ready to surrender.
The hot and orange flames called for everything not belonging to God. The solemn women began to realize that if they were ever to leave this wilderness, then they would have to put to death all the earth and flesh that consumed their sinking hearts.
So the fire grew above the wilderness beckoning for death, whispering its freedom. Each women bore the pain of choosing to sacrifice their everything. Real love meant death first. Real love meant sacrifice. And each could be deeply acquainted with this real love, if only they chose death first. Unable to ignore the fire and the growing chasms of unrest, they ripped the idols from their hearts and burned them in the flames.
But it’s hard to burn your expectations, and it’s hard to watch the flames lick up what you long believed made up your heart. So they all reached in to grab the idols once again. Holding their splintered dreams and idols, they burned their hands while scorching deep their hearts.
All the women fast remembered how to scream again. And it didn’t matter at all what season brought them to this wilderness, because they were all here just the same….all learning to die. But could it be that death hurt less than holding onto these splintered, burning expectations and all-consuming idols?
It is almost impossible to fully reverse a surrendered heart. When the women took back what they had already given up, it only felt more carnal and empty when cradled in their desperate arms again. It felt like holding something hollow…something made of nothing.
It is better if we let all this die, the women cried! And they finally believed it! In a final act of war, they surrendered themselves once again. They pulled burning hands from hungry flames and watched their idols and expectations burn instead.
Everything burned, the flames rose higher, yet hope rose higher still. The miracle in it all was that the smoke made blind eyes see the goodness of God, and the hazier the wilderness, the more clearly they triumphantly made their way through it.
Every woman ,though she could not feel it yet, was being made into Joy with the power of grace. Each was intimately realizing the only real Love of all. Instead of existing to avoid death, they chose death so they could actually live life. And they knew that it was only God who could wholly satisfy the wilderness heart.
death became life
and God became all.
I’m at the end of myself sung the woman who desired a husband. I’m at the end of myself sung the wife struggling deep within her heart. I’m at the end of myself sung the mom exhausted in ways she could hardly explain. I’m at the end of myself sung each one with burdens big and painful, hearts full and joyful. And God found their crackling voices and surrendered songs so beautiful.
Then reverberating through the wilderness, echoing all throughout, never ceasing came His faithful voice…as it always had-