The Promise I'm Holding on to

I'm part of a Bible study that usually closes our time together with a different kind of prayer. We may pick something out of the study related to a specific characteristic or two of God and go around and thank him for it or, as we did last night, share a promise or attribute we're claiming.

Last night the words of Isaiah 43 came to mind: He who created you oh Jacob, he who formed you oh Isreal, I have called you by name; you are mine. It goes on to talk about when you walk through the flood, fires, etc. you will not be swept away or set ablaze. I love this passage; I claim this passage. But it wasn't the latter part that stuck out. I have called you by name; you are mine.

My mind was drawn back to a little breakdown I had in college when I heard the truth "you are mine" in song on the radio during a very stressful time. It was in that moment, in my car on 12th street between Lincoln and Broadway in downtown Denver, that God broke into my bubble. He said, "You are mine. You are not this projects; this schools, your jobs, ministry responsibilities, or anything else. You do not belong to them and they do not own you. You are mine." I heard that promise again last night; "Evan, you are mine."

Tonight I'm claiming a different promise.

I was at the nursing home again today and went into to visit my friend. She had eaten better (and faster) today than I've seen in weeks. It brought me joy but once again I saw sadness in her face as she soaked in each moment that I gently rubbed my hand on her cheek or held her face in my hand and as she looked at family pictures. They usually sit next to her bed and she can't see them. I held them up and watch her scan them. She can't communicate with words or even the blink of her eyes but she communicated nonetheless today.

Tonight, on my way home from a housewarming party I sat at the bus stop in the middle of the city. It has cooled down dramatically in the last couple of days and I was cold as I sat waiting for the bus. I was wearing 2 shirts, one long-sleeved and a coat. I started thinking about some of our homeless parishioners. I said a prayer for them and asked God to keep them warm and safe tonight. I asked that perhaps he would intervene so they didn't have to consume alcohol, or quite so much, to be able to be warm and to sleep.

Tonight I watched a video online from another one of Britain's talent shows. A 40 year old man told the story of how he'd applied the previous year but wasn't able to participate because it was the same time his brother got married. It wasn't long after that that his brother was diagnosed with lung cancer and died 6 weeks later leaving a now 9 year old son in the care of this man. He sang beautifully and afterward the shy (and repressed) little boy ran out on stage to congratulate his uncle with a big hug.

As the news played tonight (from last night, its always a day old for me) I watched as a grown man began to break down and had to walk away from the camera as he came face to face with the reality of his home and everything in it burnt down in southern California. He believes he's lost everything.

So tonight the promise I'm holding on to is that God will make all things right. There will come a day when all tears are wiped away: a day in which the elderly won't lie alone in nursing home rooms, unable to communicate and feeling quite alone. It will be a day that no one will be homeless, suffer from mental illness or addition, where no one will freeze or fear freezing through the night. I'm holding on to a promise that God even now is redeeming and restoring but one day, when kingdom of God comes in it's fullness, little boys won't be left without dad's nor men without their brothers; cancer won't steal loved ones away and fires won't destroy homes, families, or lives.

In the mean time, I pray that we will have eyes to see and courage to participate in the story God is writing, wherever we may be, as we hang on to the hope that one day God will make everything right and in the mean time we'll do our part to restore humanity and our world.