You have turned my wailing into dancing; you removed my sackcloth and clothed me with joy, that my heart may sing your praises and not be silent, Lord, my God, I will praise you forever.
-Psalm 30:11-12
As Thanksgiving approaches, I thought it would be a suitable time for me to remember the Author of all good things- the most loving Father, the most compassionate Healer, the most powerful God. People talk about miracles, but most people do not know when they have experienced one. I have and it has changed my life. It was not the kind of miracle that is readily apparent, like healing a withered limb or clearing the eyes of a blind person. Just because my miracle was not so obvious does not make its impact any less significant. God did turn my wailing into dancing and removed my sackcloth and clothed me with joy.
More than 40 years ago, I encountered a situation that definitively changed me. It was not a single episode or event. It was a condition of life that, over time, tore and seared and eroded my heart. My heart was in ragged, delicate strands with some sections entirely destroyed. Oh, my heart still pumped blood to the rest of my body. It could still recognize beauty. It could still feel compassion. It could still feel duty and responsibility. It could still feel gratitude. It could also still feel longing. However, the part of my heart that lived in my soul- the part of my heart that made me me– was no longer functional.
I thought I healed from that situation, but what I really did was gather up the detritus of the “me” heart and carry it to a hidden place in my soul. I lovingly wrapped the shards and shatters tightly in filmy, bulky bubble wrap. The wrap obscured what was left of the me-ness, but it protected that preciousness from further destruction. I always carried that piece of my heart in that hidden place in my soul. I cherished it and I mourned it. I shielded it so much that even I forgot what it looked like. Sometimes a brave bit of hope would be able to exert enough pressure to nudge the contents in the prison of bubble wrap. During those times, my heart would struggle to escape its confines. However, I had wrapped those pieces of me-heart the way a child wraps a Christmas present- with enough knots and folds and tape to secure the contents from any attempt to open it, short of tearing it open from the outside.
One day, a couple of years ago, God did exactly that. He grabbed hold of that plastic- encased mess of a heart and ripped open the wrapping. He ripped open the protection, but He also ripped open the limitations. I even knew the day it happened. To be completely transparent, it had been coming for some time. Still, there was a particular moment I can identify as the moment God “turned my wailing into dancing.” I have been a Christian all my life. This was the first time I understood- in a truly experiential way- “If anyone is in Christ, this person is a new creation, the old things passed away; behold, new things have come” (2 Corinthians: 5:17) I was new. I was healed. I was liberated to become the person God created me, wonderfully and fearfully, to be.
Certainly, God is still working on me. In that one moment, He ripped enough of the wrapping so that my me-heart could emerge. He still pulls off bits of bubble wrap and gives them to me to pop. Sometimes, I struggle with that. I reach out to Him and to loving people with whom He blesses me as I grapple to continue towards perfect freedom. I expect that this process will continue my whole life. I also think that God will intentionally leave some pieces of my heart fragile and scarred, to remind me to rely on Him and to encourage me to nurture the parts of me that I need to nurture.
It is as if this process has been a redemption of my creation- the restoration of the person God meant for me to be. All the phases of the process- my attempts at protection, my refusal to completely discard the broken parts of me, the people and circumstances God used to clear the way for His work, and God’s miraculous healing- are equally worthy of praise and thanksgiving because they have all been part of God’s miracle. I know what I am saying in this blog post is weightier than my usual offerings. It feels scary to write it and post it. It is easy to see Thanksgiving Day as simply the springboard to the busy, festive, frantic holiday season, but my me-heart must praise and thank. So, today, nearing Thanksgiving, “I will not be silent.” Thank You, my precious Lord
You have turned my wailing into dancing; you removed my sackcloth and clothed me with joy, that my heart may sing your praises and not be silent, Lord, my God, I will praise you forever.
-Psalm 30:11-12
As Thanksgiving approaches, I thought it would be a suitable time for me to remember the Author of all good things- the most loving Father, the most compassionate Healer, the most powerful God. People talk about miracles, but most people do not know when they have experienced one. I have and it has changed my life. It was not the kind of miracle that is readily apparent, like healing a withered limb or clearing the eyes of a blind person. Just because my miracle was not so obvious does not make its impact any less significant. God did turn my wailing into dancing and removed my sackcloth and clothed me with joy.
More than 40 years ago, I encountered a situation that definitively changed me. It was not a single episode or event. It was a condition of life that, over time, tore and seared and eroded my heart. My heart was in ragged, delicate strands with some sections entirely destroyed. Oh, my heart still pumped blood to the rest of my body. It could still recognize beauty. It could still feel compassion. It could still feel duty and responsibility. It could still feel gratitude. It could also still feel longing. However, the part of my heart that lived in my soul- the part of my heart that made me me– was no longer functional.
I thought I healed from that situation, but what I really did was gather up the detritus of the “me” heart and carry it to a hidden place in my soul. I lovingly wrapped the shards and shatters tightly in filmy, bulky bubble wrap. The wrap obscured what was left of the me-ness, but it protected that preciousness from further destruction. I always carried that piece of my heart in that hidden place in my soul. I cherished it and I mourned it. I shielded it so much that even I forgot what it looked like. Sometimes a brave bit of hope would be able to exert enough pressure to nudge the contents in the prison of bubble wrap. During those times, my heart would struggle to escape its confines. However, I had wrapped those pieces of me-heart the way a child wraps a Christmas present- with enough knots and folds and tape to secure the contents from any attempt to open it, short of tearing it open from the outside.
One day, a couple of years ago, God did exactly that. He grabbed hold of that plastic- encased mess of a heart and ripped open the wrapping. He ripped open the protection, but He also ripped open the limitations. I even knew the day it happened. To be completely transparent, it had been coming for some time. Still, there was a particular moment I can identify as the moment God “turned my wailing into dancing.” I have been a Christian all my life. This was the first time I understood- in a truly experiential way- “If anyone is in Christ, this person is a new creation, the old things passed away; behold, new things have come” (2 Corinthians: 5:17) I was new. I was healed. I was liberated to become the person God created me, wonderfully and fearfully, to be.
Certainly, God is still working on me. In that one moment, He ripped enough of the wrapping so that my me-heart could emerge. He still pulls off bits of bubble wrap and gives them to me to pop. Sometimes, I struggle with that. I reach out to Him and to loving people with whom He blesses me as I grapple to continue towards perfect freedom. I expect that this process will continue my whole life. I also think that God will intentionally leave some pieces of my heart fragile and scarred, to remind me to rely on Him and to encourage me to nurture the parts of me that I need to nurture.
It is as if this process has been a redemption of my creation- the restoration of the person God meant for me to be. All the phases of the process- my attempts at protection, my refusal to completely discard the broken parts of me, the people and circumstances God used to clear the way for His work, and God’s miraculous healing- are equally worthy of praise and thanksgiving because they have all been part of God’s miracle. I know what I am saying in this blog post is weightier than my usual offerings. It feels scary to write it and post it. It is easy to see Thanksgiving Day as simply the springboard to the busy, festive, frantic holiday season, but my me-heart must praise and thank. So, today, nearing Thanksgiving, “I will not be silent.” Thank You, my precious Lord
You have turned my wailing into dancing; you removed my sackcloth and clothed me with joy, that my heart may sing your praises and not be silent, Lord, my God, I will praise you forever.
-Psalm 30:11-12
As Thanksgiving approaches, I thought it would be a suitable time for me to remember the Author of all good things- the most loving Father, the most compassionate Healer, the most powerful God. People talk about miracles, but most people do not know when they have experienced one. I have and it has changed my life. It was not the kind of miracle that is readily apparent, like healing a withered limb or clearing the eyes of a blind person. Just because my miracle was not so obvious does not make its impact any less significant. God did turn my wailing into dancing and removed my sackcloth and clothed me with joy.
More than 40 years ago, I encountered a situation that definitively changed me. It was not a single episode or event. It was a condition of life that, over time, tore and seared and eroded my heart. My heart was in ragged, delicate strands with some sections entirely destroyed. Oh, my heart still pumped blood to the rest of my body. It could still recognize beauty. It could still feel compassion. It could still feel duty and responsibility. It could still feel gratitude. It could also still feel longing. However, the part of my heart that lived in my soul- the part of my heart that made me me– was no longer functional.
I thought I healed from that situation, but what I really did was gather up the detritus of the “me” heart and carry it to a hidden place in my soul. I lovingly wrapped the shards and shatters tightly in filmy, bulky bubble wrap. The wrap obscured what was left of the me-ness, but it protected that preciousness from further destruction. I always carried that piece of my heart in that hidden place in my soul. I cherished it and I mourned it. I shielded it so much that even I forgot what it looked like. Sometimes a brave bit of hope would be able to exert enough pressure to nudge the contents in the prison of bubble wrap. During those times, my heart would struggle to escape its confines. However, I had wrapped those pieces of me-heart the way a child wraps a Christmas present- with enough knots and folds and tape to secure the contents from any attempt to open it, short of tearing it open from the outside.
One day, a couple of years ago, God did exactly that. He grabbed hold of that plastic- encased mess of a heart and ripped open the wrapping. He ripped open the protection, but He also ripped open the limitations. I even knew the day it happened. To be completely transparent, it had been coming for some time. Still, there was a particular moment I can identify as the moment God “turned my wailing into dancing.” I have been a Christian all my life. This was the first time I understood- in a truly experiential way- “If anyone is in Christ, this person is a new creation, the old things passed away; behold, new things have come” (2 Corinthians: 5:17) I was new. I was healed. I was liberated to become the person God created me, wonderfully and fearfully, to be.
Certainly, God is still working on me. In that one moment, He ripped enough of the wrapping so that my me-heart could emerge. He still pulls off bits of bubble wrap and gives them to me to pop. Sometimes, I struggle with that. I reach out to Him and to loving people with whom He blesses me as I grapple to continue towards perfect freedom. I expect that this process will continue my whole life. I also think that God will intentionally leave some pieces of my heart fragile and scarred, to remind me to rely on Him and to encourage me to nurture the parts of me that I need to nurture.
It is as if this process has been a redemption of my creation- the restoration of the person God meant for me to be. All the phases of the process- my attempts at protection, my refusal to completely discard the broken parts of me, the people and circumstances God used to clear the way for His work, and God’s miraculous healing- are equally worthy of praise and thanksgiving because they have all been part of God’s miracle. I know what I am saying in this blog post is weightier than my usual offerings. It feels scary to write it and post it. It is easy to see Thanksgiving Day as simply the springboard to the busy, festive, frantic holiday season, but my me-heart must praise and thank. So, today, nearing Thanksgiving, “I will not be silent.” Thank You, my precious Lord, for Your goodness! I will shout Your praises all the days of my life.
Have a miraculous day!
Terri/Dorry 🙂
What makes your heart thankful on Thanksgiving and every day? Please share your perspective by leaving a comment. In the alternative, you can email me at terriretirement@gmail.com.
PS. IF YOU ARE READING THIS, I AM SO THANKFUL FOR YOU!!!! MAY GOD BLESS YOU WITH LOVE, JOY, AND PEACE ALWAYS!