Yet I Will Rejoice...

I wrote this piece back in 2018 when I was trying a new method of meditating on God's words. I had a couple of friends bring these verses up over the last week or so. I thought I would share this with you to encourage your hearts that our God is greater than what we can see.

“Even though the fig trees have no blossoms, and there are no grapes on the vines; even though the olive crop fails, and the fields lie empty and barren; even though the flocks die in the fields, and the cattle barns are empty, yet I will rejoice in the LORD! I will be joyful in the God of my salvation! The Sovereign LORD is my strength! He makes me as surefooted as a deer, able to tread upon the heights.” 

Habakkuk 3:17-19 NLT

I walked among the dry barren trees as they crackled in the hot wind. Not a leaf was in sight and the dust puffed under the soft tread of my bare feet in a wispy cloud skittering over the dirt and away into the distance. My fingers traced the crackling vines on their useless supports as I passed into what had once been a lush vineyard. I gripped the twine slung from one support to another and gazed out over the hills of dirt filled with bristling stubble of long-gone crops. I sighed, and the weight of my destitution tugged on my soul. I let my fingers slide from the twine and wandered in the direction of the barns and animal pens. All was silent, still, eerie in its unnatural quiet. A gate swung on its hinges, creaking its groaning wail of emptiness. The old barn was dark and musty and was only lit by tiny bars of light slicing through the boards. Nothing. Some scattered hay fell pell-mell from some of the stalls, a whisper of things long past. I came back to the barn door blankly, surveying the ashen bones of what once was my world. I sank to the ground and looked at the few dried and withered fruits I had found among the trees. All of it was gone. Gone. How could anything be good now? How could I ever hope to be restored or build something new?

All at once, I felt the warmth of His presence. I breathed in deep and sighed, a sudden peace overwhelming me. I smiled despite myself and closed my eyes. The tug of my loss was still there but so was He. I felt his reassuring hand on my shoulder. A new strength began to fill me. I opened my eyes. With Him I could do it. Things could be restored and I would once again see good and lovely come from the barren ashes of what was. I reached up and He pulled me to my feet and beckoned me out. Out past the fields, up the hills to the mountainside looking over my little scene of desolation. I climbed, feeling his steadying hand on me every time I faltered, helping me to take another step forward, pulling me ever upward, ever toward Him. He pointed toward my home, my history, my despair. And there, in the middle of the brown and burnt, I saw it. A tiny kiss of green on the muddied cheek of ground. Life. A tiny stream ran down from these hills, right from where He stood, and the slim ribbon of blue wound its way around the knees of the hills and through the stubble and crumbling trees to that tiny harbinger of hope. Feeding it, protecting it, readying it for the life to come. I looked up at Him and smiled. I knew, He was going to save me and make my home -- my heart -- new again and I rejoiced. Not a false, pull-myself-up-by-my-bootstraps bullied optimism. But a true joy in someone I could trust. Truly, the Lord is my strength, He is the one who saves me and the one who helps me walk steadily and see clearly when all looks dead and barren. In Him I can, and will, always put my trust.