Today our family hiked into the mountains, high above the clouds, where we could see the islands below us, floating in oceans of blue.
We were making our way to where some of our very favorite Mangyan friends were moving--higher into the mountains to plant their crops of rice, corn, ube, taro, and coffee.
They are building a new hut, as they often do, for their family of 16 and we were bringing wood to reinforce the thatch roof and walls for this typhoon season, and sacks of rice for them to eat.
Their baby, Aldrin, has been under our care for around nine months, as he has been malnourished, sick, and infested with parasites. He just turned one year old last week, and is finally beginning to thrive.
On the way up the mountain, Justice led the way…he hikes this path with Francis several times a week and knows it well. He leads with sure feet, puffed out chest, a walking stick, and a song.
As his strong voice echoed off the rocks and trees, his hand skimmed the rice fields beside us, and the rice stalks swayed in time. Verdant green as far as the eye could see.
Justice stopped suddenly as we reached the edge of the rice field, where the sun dazzled and warmed our faces, and birds swooped and played. He pointed ahead of us to where the path narrowed and dipped sharply downward. Trees hung low and close, and the path was shrouded in shadows. The air turned cool and damp, the sounds of the insects grew louder, mud made the path slippery and squished around our feet.
His voice grew serious. “Mama, girls, watch out. We’re entering leech valley.. they’ll get on you every chance they have.”
We kept walking, and watching. The moment you stop, leeches jump from the path or the low hanging branches and you don’t even feel them. They attach themselves, inject an anti-coagulant, and fill up on your blood.
It has become a warped fun family past-time: pull off the leeches before they sink-in their teeth.
I laughed a little, and replied mostly to myself, “That’s right, they will.”
The enemy is like that. He has been since the beginning.
We go from breath-taking mountaintops where the sun warms our face, and we have all the feels, where our hearts are bursting with all that is good, and we feel the immeasurable joy that is ours, where we feel the mercies that are piling up at our door by the truck-full, straight into a valley, in what seems like the next breath.
The valley is dark, shadowed in death, draped in paralyzing fear, and we can’t see where to put our foot next. We fumble. The light has gone out and we find ourselves on the under-side of joy, trying to get a hand up, but the path is slippery and the pits are deep. The valley echoes with whispers that we are alone.
Sometimes Holy Spirit leads us into that valley, like He did with Jesus, and there in that desolate wasteland, He teaches us to walk with our hands gripped onto His. He sustains us, holds onto us, keeps us close, comforts and consoles. He does not, however, deliver blows to our soul. He does not turn His back. He tucks us under a spread of wings that stretch beyond the valley.
That enemy of our souls is an opportunist. He crouches in the shadow of every valley and looks for pause. He waits to sink his teeth in and draw blood. He waits where he thinks our foot will slip. He knows our wounds because he gave them, and as they gape and bleed, he pours into them the acid of lies: You are alone. You are unloved. You are hopeless. God does not listen to you, and He will not come through. This valley, this wasteland will never end. There is no way out.
A lot of you are in the messy middle of a valley, a desert, so deep and long and high and wide that you can’t even lift up your head to see how far it stretches. You’re carrying a load so heavy that your legs are buckling and your grip is white. The anxiety in your chest is robbing your next breath and you just want. This. To. End.
Hear this: There is a Love that is deeper, longer, higher, wider than this valley. A Love that is more powerful than death and can break through a fortress of desolation. A Love that bleeds for you, and wraps up your shattered pieces and makes them whole again. A Love that takes that load and hoists it onto His own broad shoulders. A Love that holds you as you cry, and resurrects the dead places that you’ve already buried. A Love that breaks down walls and unlocks chains.
He sees you. He is beside you. He’s all around you. He is holding up your head and whispering to your soul that you are His, and you are not alone. He knows the way out of this valley. He took the beatings, the shame, the death, the brokenness, the hopelessness, so that you don’t have to any more. Not for one more arduous step.
Hold on…. Even if you feel you are empty on hope. Hope has you. Hold on.
We were making our way to where some of our very favorite Mangyan friends were moving--higher into the mountains to plant their crops of rice, corn, ube, taro, and coffee.
They are building a new hut, as they often do, for their family of 16 and we were bringing wood to reinforce the thatch roof and walls for this typhoon season, and sacks of rice for them to eat.
Their baby, Aldrin, has been under our care for around nine months, as he has been malnourished, sick, and infested with parasites. He just turned one year old last week, and is finally beginning to thrive.
On the way up the mountain, Justice led the way…he hikes this path with Francis several times a week and knows it well. He leads with sure feet, puffed out chest, a walking stick, and a song.
As his strong voice echoed off the rocks and trees, his hand skimmed the rice fields beside us, and the rice stalks swayed in time. Verdant green as far as the eye could see.
Justice stopped suddenly as we reached the edge of the rice field, where the sun dazzled and warmed our faces, and birds swooped and played. He pointed ahead of us to where the path narrowed and dipped sharply downward. Trees hung low and close, and the path was shrouded in shadows. The air turned cool and damp, the sounds of the insects grew louder, mud made the path slippery and squished around our feet.
His voice grew serious. “Mama, girls, watch out. We’re entering leech valley.. they’ll get on you every chance they have.”
We kept walking, and watching. The moment you stop, leeches jump from the path or the low hanging branches and you don’t even feel them. They attach themselves, inject an anti-coagulant, and fill up on your blood.
It has become a warped fun family past-time: pull off the leeches before they sink-in their teeth.
I laughed a little, and replied mostly to myself, “That’s right, they will.”
The enemy is like that. He has been since the beginning.
We go from breath-taking mountaintops where the sun warms our face, and we have all the feels, where our hearts are bursting with all that is good, and we feel the immeasurable joy that is ours, where we feel the mercies that are piling up at our door by the truck-full, straight into a valley, in what seems like the next breath.
The valley is dark, shadowed in death, draped in paralyzing fear, and we can’t see where to put our foot next. We fumble. The light has gone out and we find ourselves on the under-side of joy, trying to get a hand up, but the path is slippery and the pits are deep. The valley echoes with whispers that we are alone.
Sometimes Holy Spirit leads us into that valley, like He did with Jesus, and there in that desolate wasteland, He teaches us to walk with our hands gripped onto His. He sustains us, holds onto us, keeps us close, comforts and consoles. He does not, however, deliver blows to our soul. He does not turn His back. He tucks us under a spread of wings that stretch beyond the valley.
That enemy of our souls is an opportunist. He crouches in the shadow of every valley and looks for pause. He waits to sink his teeth in and draw blood. He waits where he thinks our foot will slip. He knows our wounds because he gave them, and as they gape and bleed, he pours into them the acid of lies: You are alone. You are unloved. You are hopeless. God does not listen to you, and He will not come through. This valley, this wasteland will never end. There is no way out.
A lot of you are in the messy middle of a valley, a desert, so deep and long and high and wide that you can’t even lift up your head to see how far it stretches. You’re carrying a load so heavy that your legs are buckling and your grip is white. The anxiety in your chest is robbing your next breath and you just want. This. To. End.
Hear this: There is a Love that is deeper, longer, higher, wider than this valley. A Love that is more powerful than death and can break through a fortress of desolation. A Love that bleeds for you, and wraps up your shattered pieces and makes them whole again. A Love that takes that load and hoists it onto His own broad shoulders. A Love that holds you as you cry, and resurrects the dead places that you’ve already buried. A Love that breaks down walls and unlocks chains.
He sees you. He is beside you. He’s all around you. He is holding up your head and whispering to your soul that you are His, and you are not alone. He knows the way out of this valley. He took the beatings, the shame, the death, the brokenness, the hopelessness, so that you don’t have to any more. Not for one more arduous step.
Hold on…. Even if you feel you are empty on hope. Hope has you. Hold on.
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