Little Girl Lost: Waiting for The Word to Eclipse Words

You know that nagging, heavy feeling of something tugging on your heart?  An unidentifiable little something.  You know, a small child trying to get his dad’s attention by yanking on the bottom of his jacket.  It can be ignored for a time.  Maybe you absentmindedly swat it away.  Push it off, and try to walk forward.  Perhaps you don’t even bother turning to look at it, refusing to identify the source of the tugging.  Maybe you think that naming it would give it some power – that you’d then have to cater to whatever it is, and that takes time and energy.

Or maybe you don’t know.  Maybe it’s just me.

I can’t tell you how long I’ve been ignoring it.  But recently the tugging has grown in intensity and frequency, demanding to be identified.  And in this new season of waiting that I find myself in, I’ve had too much time and not enough excuses to not take a peek.  Turning to look at the persistent little bugger, I’ve found myself even more mystified.  Maybe it’s because I took so long to turn my hard head, but it has clearly morphed into something bigger and more complex.  Whatever it is, it isn’t easily identifiable, and it isn’t as small as I thought it would be.

It isn’t what I was expecting.   And now I feel stuck. 

I’m suddenly four years old again, separated from my mom in the store.  Walking up and down aisles, looking around corners and peering through the racks of clothes just trying to spot her familiar shoes.  If only I could find her feet, I’d then be able to reunite with the one whose lead I knew how to follow. 

My confusion and desire to reunite with the one who is my safe place mingles together, grows, and bubbles up inside my chest.  And oh, how it all threatens to escape via tears and screaming.  I just want to know what’s going on.  I want to know where I am and where I’m going.

This time, it’s not my mom I’m looking for.  It’s Jesus that I crave to be next to, to see His familiar face, and to fall back into step with Him.  And here I am, face to face with a giant polymorphic figure demanding my attention. 

From one angle, it’s the pressing need for Truth – from God alone.  I long to hear His voice through the many voices of those around me (both those who mean well and those who don’t know me at all), my own voice, and the voice of the enemy. 

From another angle, it’s the growing desire to know the voice that God has given me specifically.  How my unique voice, as Ashley McKechnie, should sound as one whose identity is found in Christ.  A slowly budding knowledge of His call for me to use that voice and speak up, while relying on the Spirit to provide words that mean something to souls.

The thing that’s been tugging on me for a while turns once more, and it takes on yet another shape.  It’s a realization that I’ve put so much weight on the voices of others – that I’ve given their words a power over my heart and mind.  Words that spring from the lips of others shouldn’t break me the way they often do.  How many times do I find myself on the ground when a friend’s words knock my feet out from under me?  Let me tell you:  too many. 

It’s all a little too much for me to figure out in a day - or a week.  Let’s be honest, it’s too much for even a month.  So here I am, waiting.  And in this waiting, I’m peering through racks of clothes looking for the familiar feet of Jesus.  Asking for Him to speak to me.  Asking for Him to help me to hide IN Him, not from Him.  Reading, reciting, writing Scriptures. Begging Him to renew my mind – to make His Words the ones with power. 

And so, I wait.  And I trust that the One who sees me, the One who hears me, and the One who is faithful will shed some light on this giant figure with many faces, and that His glory would eclipse my questions and afflictions.  I trust that He will deliver me out of these rows of clothes and lead me to a place where I can distinguish His voice from others, to where I am abiding in Christ and I can speak freely the words He wants me to speak, and to a place where I can hear from others without letting them knock me around like some civilian thrown into a boxing ring without any gloves or skills. 

In the meantime, I’m the girl peering around a rack of belts in the women’s department reminding herself that “Your word is a lamp unto my feet and a light to my path.”  (Psalm 119:105)  If you pass by the bedding in the home department, I’m the lost girl reciting “I waited patiently for the LORD; he inclined to me and heard my cry. He drew me up from the pit of destruction, out of the miry bog, and set my feet upon a rock, making my steps secure.”  (Psalm 40:1-2)  And yes, I’m the one passing by the fitting rooms recalling that Jesus said, “The sheep hear his voice, and he calls his own sheep by name and leads them out. When he has brought out all his own, he goes before them, and the sheep follow him, for they know his voice.”  (John 10:3-4)