a song in the night


It’s good to feel small.

Perspective is the remedy I need sometimes to pull me out of myself. Out of my questions, my wanderings, my worries, and my pain.

And sometimes I need to feel small.

A few months ago my middle boy and I returned to Missouri where we had moved from last year. He had a weekend of camp fun, and I had a weekend of girlfriend fun. It was just what we needed to regain focus of our new life in Colorado away from so much that is familiar and meaningful. It was hard to return to our new home but even harder for my melancholy son. Seems that God made us like two peas in a pod. We were both a mess of emotions returning to Colorado on the plane that afternoon.

The view from our window in the plane was oddly comforting. Flying high and feeling small and out of control, I was reminded again that God is in control. His ways are higher than ours. His purposes, although often hidden, are better. He always writes a better story. He has a big plan for our seemingly small lives. He quietly sings over us in the dark nights of our soul, and His song is always love. I tried to comfort my son with these truths as we peered out the window. My heart was just starting to get it; his was far from understanding.

The waves of emotions hit again this week. News of our Missouri home renter brought back strong emotions and tied me back to a place I’ve tried to leave again and again in my heart. My middle guy hit the wall last night as he was getting ready for a Dr. Seuss themed field day the next day. It only reminded him of sweet memories from home of track event styled field days with familiar homeschool friends and families. Dr. Seuss at his impersonal public school just wasn’t going to cut it this year and only brought back a wave of loneliness and homesickness.

I fell into bed pleading with God again to heal our homesick hearts and take away the pain. My heart cried for God, my Maker, to give me a song in the night.

And then I remembered Job.

I love how God doesn’t give us lectures or lists of rules and guidelines for life. Instead, he gives us stories. Of real people. Real pain. Real life. The stories of God’s people–messy people with messy lives–draws me in again and again and as I see a window into Job’s world, I catch a glimpse of perhaps what God is doing in mine. For Job, it was real loss and real pain, and just the fact that God tells us the story of Job’s losses speaks into the pain of my losses, as well. Oh, I haven’t lost family, health, and wealth, but my losses are real.

Like Job, it is good to come to the conclusion that I am of small account. It is good to remember that my Creator and Redeemer lives. That He is a God who gives songs in the night, who can bring back my soul from the pit. As I stop and consider the wondrous works of God, yes, even as I fall and repent and beg for mercy, beg for light, beg for life, then slowly, surely, my pain subsides and begins to give way to hope again. I can ever so faintly begin to join the chorus of Job as he boldly proclaims, “But now my eye sees you.”

This is the song I sing when the pain floods in again and again as it did this week. When the unrelenting “whys” and the unbelieving “hows” lead me to the All Wise, All Loving, All Powerful Who. Jesus, help me see You.