Monday, 10 March 2008

Why This Waste?

I'm tired. Tired of waiting. Tired of hurting. Tired of leaving myself bare, tired of feeling foolish, tired of pushing down my wounded, squirming pride, tired of hurting for what seems like no reason, tired of waiting for God to replace my withered love with His strong one. I try to remember - well, half-remember, half-imagine - what it's like to love and hurt and still not need.

I sit outside a tightly closed door and wait. The door was once open to me, and I went in and out of it at will. I begin to forget, just now, precisely why I wait, but Love, that charming child, is somewhere about me, and for what seems like a long time, his presence has been enough.

Pride comes stalking about from time to time, making indignant thrusts and reminding me of the privilege from which I have fallen, and drawing my eyes to a plentitude of other doors open to me which I might more independently go in at. But Love rises up and silences his angry talk with a bold look.

Then Loneliness has a turn at me. He comes smoothly and coldly, laying with chill hands a thin blanket of melancholy about my shoulders as I wait. His pleading suggestion is a whine in the wind, but it matches the rising complaint in my cold heart: If you can't bear it, no need to stay. There are other doors open wide and warm. But again, Love arises in my defence and quells him with a word or two.

Last comes Reason, unsanctified. I hear the ordered measure of his footfall as he comes and it seems reassuring to my ear. He is neither angry nor pleading, but all matter-of-fact, and he seems not even to see me, but addresses Love directly: "Think carefully, my friend. Long have you sat outside this door, to what end? Are you not simply a bother to those inside? When they think of you at all, doesn't your stubborn waiting seem a burden rather than a gift? What can you give if the door is shut?" His unimpassioned charge is swift and strong, and even Love seems to stagger, his childlike trust suddenly made foolish.

Then softly, through the damp and gloom, comes One whose brow is wrapped in thorns, whose hands and feet are pierced and bleeding. He neither looks nor speaks harshly, but before him, Reason knows his place and becomes the humble penitent. Love runs to him as to a father and looks boldly out from amongst the soft, warm robes of the Man of Sorrows.

I, too, am compelled to take my place at his feet, and I remember why and for Whom I sit waiting. It is not for the ones on the other side of the door, but for Him who also waits with broken heart.

Like those frugal-minded souls who watched with only their eyes the glory of One for whom an alabaster box was broken and its ointment poured forth, I have questioned in my heart, "Why this waste?"

And then - a glimpse of Him before whom all is at once broken and made whole; Him before whom there is no waste, though I pour out the whole treasure of my deep heart on his dear feet; Him whose broken heart precedes every other breaking, and whose precious ointment lavished on me is the full of my own heart's store.

I am ashamed that I have forgotten for whom I wait and watch; that I have been deceived by that rogue trio into counting again the cost of the alabaster, into making measure of my precious ointment. Surely there can be no waste for the One whose own blood poured forth is of matchless worth.

Better is the end of a thing than the beginning thereof: and the patient in spirit is better than the proud in spirit. (Ecclesiastes 6:8)

8 comments:

kittykat said...

You make my heart ache with a longing for what I once knew so much more than now.

Anonymous said...

Please don't ever stop writing...you have such an amazing gift!! I am still wiping my eyes and feeling the same feelings your Mom did. If only I could entice others to learn more of God with a desire that you stir inside me. I feel so small, yet filled with wonder that He would bother with such a frail creature. xo

joeyanne said...

I needed that. Where did those words come from? They were what my thirsty soul needed. thank you.

bjk said...

your words:
I, too, am compelled to take my place at his feet, and I remember why and for Whom I sit waiting. It is not for the ones on the other side of the door, but for Him who also waits with broken heart.

childlike instead of childishly pounding on the door...thanks for your words

Robert said...

heartwrenching, moving,soulstirring. He reaches into that part of us no one else can, because no human knows us as He does. More, more and more. So want to read more of what you have to share precious soul jennypo

Brandon said...

Jenny, your writing is so beautiful. Your words make me want to go rushing toward God. :)

jennypo said...

It is lovely to speak and be understood. There is no communicating God to one who has never experienced Him in their own way - the words signify nothing at all. But my experience causes each of you to remember your own encounters with Him, and that is the beauty and the meaning that we share.

We have seen, touched, sensed the presence of Him whose name is Wonderful, Faithful and True. We are hungry for Him because we know what it is to be satisfied by Him.

bjk said...

I am tired this morning too and both my reading this morning and your writing remind me ....it'll be worth it.....thanks and a blessed Easter to you.