and the rain came down

Last night, I went to bed earlier than usual hoping to get some much needed rest. I haven't been sleeping all that well, and I've been more tired than usual. As I laid there reading, I began to hear rain falling outside. Not a slight rain, but a strong, forceful, seemingly angry rain. And it was sudden. Having arrived home less than an hour earlier, the rain wasn't imminent, especially at the end of a day when temperatures had pushed into the high 60s. The rain was so strong, that I actually got out of bed and walked to the window, seeing the rain illuminated by the street light pummel the asphalt in front of my house.

The images of rain and water, have been fairly constant in my thoughts the past few weeks. Even two nights ago, I posted Rob Bell's Nooma video entitled "Rain" (If you haven't watched it yet, you should.) Water can take on so many forms and have so many purposes. It can be the source of cleansing, replenishing, or renewal. And it can also be overwhelming and uncontrollable as the current of a raging river or the deafening crash of an thundering tide. It is beautifully wild and frighteningly peaceful.

Hearing the rain last night, the title of this post came to mind: "And the rain came down..." It comes from the first line in the chorus of the Big Tent Revival song "Two Sets of Jones'" released in the mid-90s. Although the song is a bit dated, and perhaps a little (or a lot) kitschy, the message is clear. Its a modern (1990s modern) take on Jesus' story of the wise and foolish builders from the Sermon on the Mount in Matthew 7. When the rains come, and they will come, the question is: What have we anchored ourselves to? My prayer is that the answer for me, and for you, is Jesus. The rains were a good reminder for me.

"Two Sets of Jones'", by Big Tent Revival

it is going to be alright

my heart will choose to say

Last week, I wrote about my inability to sing one of the worship songs during church. It was a song called "Everlasting God," and no matter how hard I tried the words would not come (you can read my post here). This week, I had a similar experience at Colossae. At some point in the next few days, I'll  write about Sunday's message, because it was one that cut to the very core of me and what I am currently going through. The short version is that the message, and the songs that followed, all dealt with trusting God in the midst of difficulty.

The final song was "Blessed Be Your Name" by Matt and Beth Redman. It has long been one of my favorites, but as I heard my buddy Greg begin to strum the intro, I knew that singing it there and then would be different then all the times before. The song is based on the reaction of Job, immediately after he loses everything that he holds dear. Overcome with sorrow, Job tore his robe, shaved his head, and fell to the ground in worship saying "Naked I came from my mother's womb, and naked I will depart. The Lord gave and the Lord has taken away; may the name of the Lord be praised" (Job 1:20-21). In the midst of the greatest anguish imaginable, Job worships the Lord with everything he has.

Enter me.

In the midst of my hurt, I sat there knowing the only proper response was to trust God in worship, regardless of my circumstances. No. Because of my circumstances. As was the case last week, I wasn't sure if I could sing these words. But I must. Especially, the last lines which echo Job's cry: "You give and take away. You give and take away. My heart will choose to say, Lord blessed be your name." There is no doubt that God "gave" to me starting back in January 2008. It cannot be explained by luck or random chance, it was clearly the Lord's hand at work. He gave me a beautiful gift that has nourished my soul for the past year and a half. And now, He has taken away.

So I stood, arms stretched out, tears trickling down my face, singing the words of this song. Singing through pain to worship and trust the Lord that gives and takes away. As difficult as it is, my heart chooses to say "Blessed be your name."

"Blessed Be Your Name"
Blessed be Your Name
In the land that is plentiful
Where Your streams of abundance flow
Blessed be Your name

Blessed be your name
When I'm found in the desert place
Though I walk through the wilderness
Blessed be your name

Every blessing you pour out
I'll turn back to praise
When the darkness closes in, Lord
Still I will say

Blessed be the name of the Lord
Blessed be your name
Blessed be the name of the Lord
Blessed be your glorious name

Blessed be your name
When the sun's shining down on me
When the world's all as it should be
Blessed be your name

Blessed be your name
On the road marked with suffering
Though there's pain in the offering
Blessed be your name

Every blessing you pour out
I'll turn back to praise
When the darkness closes in, Lord
Still I will say

Blessed be the name of the Lord
Blessed be your name
Blessed be the name of the Lord
Blessed be your glorious name

You give and take away
You give and take away
My heart will choose to say
Lord, blessed be your name

Every blessing you pour out
I'll turn back to praise
When the darkness closes in, Lord
Still I will say

Blessed be the name of the Lord
Blessed be your name
Blessed be the name of the Lord
Blessed be your glorious name

Blessed be the name of the Lord
Blessed be your name
Blessed be the name of the Lord
Blessed be your glorious name

You give and take away
You give and take away
My heart will choose to say
Lord, blessed be your name

sunday

Today was a rough day.

Today is Sunday. But regardless of what we call it, the sun didn't shine, at least not when and where I could feel it. Instead, the day felt dark. At times, oppressive. Its encouraging start ultimately revealing itself as a deceptive forgery. Moments that would normally elicit happiness were instead racked with frustration and tears.

Was Friday all that long ago? The sun shone bright, and the world felt right. I smiled. I laughed. I loved. And I felt genuine joy for the first time in weeks. Hope sprung to life, easing my fears, and allowing me to trust. I found the freedom that had recently escaped my grasp, and had been all but impossible to track down. Friday made no promises, and I didn't need them. It was enough to be present, to experience joy, and to know that it is still possible. Even uncertainty was impotent to dash my rekindled joy or steal my hope.

But today is Sunday. And uncertainty feels strangely different. It conjures up the sadness, anger and fear that recently have been my ever-present companions. A portion of my hope devoured by its insatiable appetite.

I am saddened by this sudden turn, and merely left to ask: What happened to Friday? Because I can still see the joy-filled remnants of its warmth, even now.