Wednesday in the Word: Comfort

 

We’re supposed to have all kinds of severe weather across Indiana today. Hail and wind and tornadoes and…and…and…I’m reminded how much I detest storms. I do much better with them than I used to, but I still hate them. Last night I was at a meeting at Swiss Village, listening to thunder rumble outside, thinking about today’s forecast, and all of the sudden the room felt entirely hot, the walls were closing in, and I could not breathe. Ahh, storm anxiety. You’re back. (And not welcomed, by the way.)

                The day was challenging in other ways too. Any one of the things on their own would have probably been fine, but all piled up, they were overwhelming. So I made granola, washed dishes, and cried. And somewhere in the middle of stirring granola and managing to get soapy water everrrrrrrrrrrrrrywhere in the kitchen and on my person, I happened to think of Psalm 94:19.

                Maybe not verbatim. But enough of the words peeked through in my mind that I was able to locate the verse and read it for real.

                When the cares of my heart are many, your consolations cheer my soul.

                And in my Bible, I’ve written this quote by Scotty Smith: “We carry many types and sizes of cares in life – small, mid-size, ad large ones. The most critical cares we have are heart cares – the situations and stories that impact our innermost being. As our Father of compassion and God of all comfort, no one is more committed to giving us the care we need and catching the cares we cast.”

                And I’m so thankful. The cares of my heart ARE many today. Some of them are so heavy. They’re big and probably here for the long haul. Others are heavy but somehow feel a little less crushing because I know they’re likely to just pass through. Others are heavy in ways that really annoy me, because they shouldn’t even matter.

                But they do.

                And yet, God’s consolations cheer my soul, right in the thick of all the heaviness. He sits in kitchens filled with the aroma of cinnamon and maple syrup, mopping up tears that fling about alongside sudsy dishwater.

                And that is comfort in and of itself.