A Garment of Praise
Isaiah 61
“The Spirit of the Sovereign Lord is on me,
because the Lord has anointed me
to proclaim good news to the poor.
He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted,
to proclaim freedom for the captives
and release from darkness for the prisoners,[a]
2 to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor
and the day of vengeance of our God,
to comfort all who mourn,
3 and provide for those who grieve in Zion—
to bestow on them a crown of beauty
instead of ashes,
the oil of joy
instead of mourning,
and a garment of praise
instead of a spirit of despair.
They will be called oaks of righteousness,
a planting of the Lord
for the display of his splendor.”
I've often referred to God as the "Grand Weaver." And He most certainly is... the weaver of lives and families and our stories. A friend shared a part of her story recently, and I was compelled to look for a poem I had written in an old journal years ago when I found myself in a similar season of life, one where direction and purpose seemed difficult to lay hold of. My journals are far from organized yet I was actually able to find it quickly which led me to think I was to share it with her.
I brought that particular journal along with me for the Easter weekend Pat and I would spend at the lakehouse. Upon opening the old spiral notebook, an entry from many years ago was the first I read. It wasn't happenstance. The following are some segments from that day's account:
"A new season or trial can hit with such a huge bang! This is hard.... a stretching, a tearing; where is peace during this? It hurts. It's unfamiliar. It's risky. It's scary. It's vulnerable. It's raw. It's unsafe. It's like death and letting an old way or pattern of behavior die. It's something only God can do. Yet I have to cooperate. I have to be the clay at the potter's wheel, the thread in the weaver's hand, the fabric that has to be cut, or torn, pierced with the needle over and over again, binding me to something new. It's exhausting to walk it out - feel it out. The stretching and rending is tangible. I FEEL it. (I looked for a definition of rending) To rend is "to tear apart, pull, or rip with violence. To tear (one's clothing) to show grief, anguish."
The Rag Coat is a favorite children's story. Young Minna's family cannot afford to buy her a coat for the winter. The community women gather and create one for her using remnants from previously worn items of clothing and fragments of fabrics - each piece carrying a memory. Her father had died recently and even a portion of his old jacket has been woven into her coat. When I think of Minna's story, the 61st chapter of Isaiah comes to mind....."beauty from ashes, joy instead of mourning and the creation of a garment of praise instead of a spirit of despair."
Times in life come to all of us that feel disjointed and confusing, leaving us to wonder what the future could possibly hold that could be good. Yet, there is a story being written and a coat being sewn together with its many and varied pieces woven in over time. And each patch or scrap has meaning. Each one is part of our story. Each one matters and is part of the Grand Weaver's design. I suppose our challenge is to trust Him in the workroom. He holds the needle, the thread, and every remnant. And He has His vision in mind with every stitch.
I wrote the above while at the lakehouse and revisited it today being prompted by something Meg posted on Facebook by Brian Simmons. It was about surrender. He referenced Abraham and all that he had to let go of...his home, his people, his material goods and finally his own son Issac as a test of his faith. It caused me to think on things I need to release and to wonder what may need rending. I believe God is highlighting some of these and bringing them more clearly to the surface of my mind. You may have heard the term "soul ties". I have a general idea of what the term means. These are deep rooted parts of our souls and we don't always understand why they are there or where they come from. As I ponder all this, I realize how very securely they can be tied, all the "pieces" of the fabrics of our lives. They can feel so familiar and be such a part of who we are that we can't imagine their absence. Maybe they aren't all bad things but have been good and purposeful but only for a time. As I sit with these thoughts, I realize I cannot tear these away by myself. I haven't the ability to do so. I need a helper. You may be familiar with the scene in The Voyage of the Dawn Treader by C.S. Lewis when cousin Eustace is trying to remove his dragon scales. After much effort, he realizes it can't be done. That's when Aslan steps in and says," You will have to let me undress you." And then, from Eustace,
I was afraid of his claws, I can tell you, but l was pretty nearly desperate now. So I just lay flat down on my back to let him do it.
The very first tear he made was so deep that I thought it had gone right into my heart. And when he began pulling the skin off, it hurt worse than anything I've ever felt.
"Well, he peeled the beastly stuff right off-just as I thought I'd done it myself the other three times, only they hadn't hurt.
...and there it was lying on the grass: only ever so much thicker, and darker, and more knobbly-looking than the others had been."
Until I read this reference again, I had forgotten that Aslan used the term "undress". To be undressed has to be the most vulnerable place we could possibly find ourselves in. Are we willing? Am I? We can't sever these soul ties alone.... some were never intended to be so tightly bound and some have simply served their purpose. The rending is necessary. The Grand Weaver is at work and sometimes pieces have to be "ripped with violence." Only One is able to accomplish these deep soul rendings. It can be severe and grievous and painful, for it has been a part of us. But it has to go. It has to be released and sewn back into a new garment where even the memory remains, as a reminder of the power of God to set us free, to create something new, a garment of praise. And perhaps when this has been done, we are no longer in despair. We actually stand taller and straighter and stronger than before. We become "a planting of the LORD, for the display of His splendor."
"And He who sits on the throne said, 'Behold, I am making all things new.' And He said, 'Write, for these words are faithful and true.'"(Revelation 21:5)
Well, I've written as faithfully and true as I know how. He is making all things new. That includes me. And that includes you....wearing our own garment of praise for the display of his splendor.
