The mountains are snowcapped and close. The icy cold surrounds the house as I cocoon in the warmth of my bedroom and listen to the early stirrings of the day. The sun has not yet lit the sky and in the dark of the morning hour I lift my hands to God. I am afraid.
I am afraid because I continue to let people down. I am learning to say no but sometimes I still say yes. I am old school and when I say yes I like to keep my word but I find I have too many yes-es and I have to let somebody down. So I lift my hands to the God who is always dependable.
I am afraid because I have too much to do. I had a long list of work I wanted to accomplish these past few months. I still have this list and it is still long. I have worked hard and accomplished much but it was unexpected work not on my list. So I focus on what is in front of me and trust in the God from whom the labor comes.
I am afraid because I have too many places to go and I love being at home. I am comfortable with the familiar and routine daily activities. When I go places I am stretched and uncomfortable so I reach out to God who is my most familiar place and who brings comfort in my discomfort.
I am afraid because I like to please people and I have too many to please and I know I can’t please them all. I don’t always use the right words, or respond in appropriate ways. I misstep and displease. Some will push me away, some will speak loudly, some will silently say nothing and so I reach out to God who leads and guides and whom I trust to please.
I am afraid because I grieve at the hurts this broken world has to offer to broken people. The sore spots of life press in and I sit a thousand miles away feeling in small part the huge hurt of dear friends, so I reach out to God who draws near in grief and offers His presence.
I can’t help but lift my hands toward God … I reach out to him when I am afraid that I have let people down, when I am overwhelmed with too much to do and too many places to go and too many people to please. I lift my hands toward God to combat my fear, to give space for my grief and to love him dearly when I love others poorly.
In this lifting of hands I find grace.