When You Leave the Mountain
I often wonder how Jesus felt after he came down from the mountain.
The scripture is full of places where Jesus “slipped away into the hills,” and I’ve known the weight of why He did that. The sea of faces. The hands outstretched. The need. Ever growing.
How did He feel when He came from being face to face with His Father, back to the life of human need. And demands.
This is the hard part about meeting with God. It is so good. So good you never want to leave. And yet the world is waiting for you to offer them a piece of bread.
Or send them tax-deductible receipts.
Whether I am back home in Uganda, or in the USA, the need is always there.
How to meet with God in the middle of “real” life. When the only real life I’ve felt is resting in His arms.
So I stop for a moment from licking a pile of envelopes.
The sun dips low and orange past the mountains, setting them ablaze.
The soaking music sings, “the whispers of heaven,” and I try to think about what that means.
These whispers of heaven.
In the midst of every day life.
And I can feel Him again.
He is still here. I am still His daughter.
Even though I feel different.
I am still His. And He is still my shelter.
So much so, that last week when two of my precious little ones in Uganda ran away from home, I had nowhere to run but to my Daddy. Nothing I could do. I was stuck in Canada. So I soaked. And I prayed, and I released them to Him, because after all He is their Daddy too, even though they struggle to know it.
So I prayed God would Father them. Take that orphan spirit clean from them, and make them whole.
I actually wonder if the resting produced more than the striving.
Because come Monday, there was a change in them. Over the phone, I hear the reports. Reports of how the Father touched them.
He is the only one who can love a heart back to life.
I think Jesus carried the mountain around inside Him. He kept it close.
The mystery of that Holy meeting.
He wrapped it around His heart and stopped to let it fill Him anew.
He handed out the bread and fish, all the while contemplating in His heart, the goodness of the Father.
So maybe we don’t have to leave the mountain.
Maybe we can carry it.
And force ourselves to take moments to remember,
to let it fill us once again.