Some people lightly skip through the fields, taking what comes, surrendering easily, freely. Not me. Ever. My style of moving through those fields is usually with heavy boots, wading my way through, looking for why the field is even in my path, searching for something beyond the obvious, wanting to hear His voice in the trees. Straining. Muscles tight. Wrestling for the bigger lesson.
Because when He speaks, I'm okay. His voice is balm to my heart. He's the only thing that soothes in the deepest place. His voice gets to the root.
He is Peace.
But my mind fights that peace, can't hear. It's a busy place, my mind. Overworked, by me. Wrestling, mingled thoughts. So much to think about, manage, do, decide right now. So much that requires being strong.
He is Strong.
But I'm not. Strong. I think I am, but I'm not (at least, not on my own), which makes wrestling a challenge.
Fifteen days ago the balm came, gently, "each drop flows release, weakening the grip". One day earlier, she was in surgery. I was waiting. Wrestling back the temptation to fear, wanting to control.
Seeing her afterward, safe, but very weak after a heart scare in recovery, that single drop fell. Then later, after sweeping her hair to the side, kissing her forehead, more drops.
But His grip on her is strong. She is His. By wrestling loose my want of control, trust and heart-deep faith are strengthened. Making me stronger for what He has asked me to do or be, in the midst of the circumstances or fields He puts me in. Strengthened, drop by drop, creating a ripple effect into other areas of my life.
So, there it is. His voice in the trees...Strength comes by wrestling loose the grip.