Do you know how it feels when a song gets stuck in your head out of nowhere, but you only remember part of it, so you end up Googling it because you’ll drive yourself nuts if you don’t think of the whole thing, and the only way to put your mind at ease is to see all the lyrics and play it through on your guitar?

Just me?

Maybe.

Anyway, that happened to me one day last week with the line “You dance over me, when I am unaware…”. It’s an older song. But, here it is if it’s stuck in your head now too: https://youtu.be/D9S86nMqaLg

We will circle back to that in a minute.

One month ago today, I flew away from my home in Haiti, the people I love there, the daily service I feel called to, because I felt that was the best decision for me for this time. I had to make that decision quickly due to closing borders and limited flights, but I prayed a lot first. I asked input from several people I trust and followed their counsel. And I do plan to go back just as soon as borders are open and I can travel without putting anyone at risk.

I still believe that was the best decision I could make for myself and my family in the midst of everything going on in Haiti and in the world. But that decision broke my heart. And, here, four weeks later, my heart is still broken and waiting to return.

I don’t have a good attitude today. I have a barely holding myself together-itude today, so when my brother says, “Earth to Katie!” for the eleventh time in a row because I’m paying attention to the text messages on my phone and not the video game he is playing, my reaction may be lightly tempered by the fruit of the spirit, but it is definitely liberally lathered in impatience.

I don’t like this. There are definite benefits to focusing on the positives, but I am not going to deny that this is hard.

I need to clarify that I am grateful to have this time at home. I am grateful for time with family; puzzles and games and HGTV shows and lots of home-cooked food. I’m enjoying afternoon batting practice with my brother and anytime coffee with my parents.

But this isn’t what I want. This current situation isn’t what anyone wants. (Well, earth to Katie! Matthew thinks this is the best.)

I’m not asking for sympathy. Everyone is struggling right now with different things and I’m not claiming to understand what anyone else is going through. I’m just trying to acknowledge that, yes. This is difficult.

I haven’t seen COVID19 up close, not in the dramatic ways we see in the nightly news briefings. I’m grateful for that. I’ve seen it in in the socially distanced grocery store lines and neighbors in gloves and masks, standing several car-lengths apart. I’ve heard it whispered about as it impacts more and more of my friend’s lives and not just friends of friends. So, I can follow the rules and stay in and do my best to keep my family safe.

I feel the distance. I feel unsettled. I want to take control and go where I want. I know others feel the same.

Just me?

Maybe.

Communication helps. I get text messages and WhatsApp messages and facebook messages from friends in Haiti every day. Pictures and notes and video clips, and I’m still connected. I can still support the ministry happening there and be a part of it, even as I am distanced.

I’ve prayed more lately than usual. And that seems to be a common story from others I’ve talked with. The urgency of global pandemic, especially in regard to Haiti and other vulnerable populations, has led a lot of people to pray.

I like to think that in all the prayers, God is reveling in the closeness with His people.

Prayer bridges the distance we allow between ourselves and God. Between our world and Him. Between our problems and the only one who can solve them.

I said I would circle back to that old song, remember?

Well, I love the imagery of God dancing over us and we don’t even know it, but that imagery is also terribly sad. It is sad that God knows the heart break of distance from us. In the song, we are the ones who are unaware. The distance is not because God is far away. It is because we are unaware.

Let’s be aware.

“Father, I want those you have given me to be with me where I am, and to see my glory, the glory you have given me because you loved me before the creation of the world.” -Jesus in John 17:24

 

I’ve been doing a study on the disciple John, which has suddenly made the timeline of Christ’s last days and death and resurrection and other last days on earth spring to life in vivid new ways for me. Because as I connect with John as a multi-faceted human being, I am able to see the story from his perspective just a little. And that glimpse adds a level of humanity and emotion to the Easter story that brings me comfort right now.

Before you get impressed with me, I want to acknowledge my outright plagiarism. The actual study here was done by Beth Moore, for “Beloved Disciple, The Life and Ministry of John.” What follows is some of what I’m learning and associated ramblings.

John was close to Jesus, arguably, closer than anyone else on earth. He, along with Peter and James, were invited into the most intimate experiences with Jesus. They alone were there when Jesus was transfigured on the mountain (Mark 9), and when Jesus enter the bedroom of a dead girl and raised her back to life (Mark 5), the three were there. John leaned against Jesus at the Last Supper and as Jesus sweat drops of blood in prayer in the Garden of Gethsemane, the three were his sleepy witnesses (Matthew 26).

In John 18, in the story of Peter’s denial, “another disciple” is mentioned who goes into the high priest’s courtyard with Jesus. I am going to assume this is John. John is there. Not hearing the story of what happened to Jesus, but watching him, listening, seeing, feeling.

Throughout the entire story, arrest to crucifixion, John is there. Every accusation, humiliation, and pain inflicted. In John 19:26, Jesus turns to his mother and to John and asks them to care for each other.

John watches his savior die, not understanding what is to come, but faithful to him, nonetheless. And after the Sabbath, when they hear that the body has gone missing, Peter and John sprint to the tomb and find this to be true (John 20). Verses 8-9 say “Finally the other disciple, who had reached the tomb first, also went inside. He saw and believed. (They still did not understand from Scripture that Jesus had to rise from the dead.)”

It was only hours later that evening that they saw him in person for the first time. But, what complex emotions they must have felt in those hours! And that grief-filled Sabbath in between with no explanation! Just sadness. And trust.

Acts 1:3 speaks of a period of 40 days where Jesus appeared to his apostles, and we really don’t know how often or many of the details of that timeframe. There weren’t many flannelgraphs that I remember between resurrection and ascension. There had to have been incredible joy in that time, but also stretches of waiting and uncertainty.

There are elements of my faith I feel connection with right now in this current season that are not necessarily new but being renewed. I am grateful that as I sit in a time of uncertainty and sadness, that God is in control. Even in tragedy, the Lord has plans that are deeper than I can understand right now.

We see miracles and know hope. Jesus can close the door, take a young girl’s cold, dead hand in his and restore life. He still does those things today. I believe that. He can absolutely spare nations from COVID19. I am praying for that! I know many people are. Yet, my reliance on his goodness and his mercy does not depend on the answer to that prayer.

Jesus may ask us to follow Him to dark and deathly places. Or ask us to sit and wait while darkness and uncertainty seem to fill the world around us. I don’t need to be afraid of any of those places, as long as He is with me. I want to stick close, like John. I think if I do that, I will understand later, when I need to.