It’s the story of our human soul — these timelines of transitions.
Transitioning from the place where you’ve once been, but not having arrived at the place you one day wanna be, the place you know you oughta be.
It’s the in-between places of life.
The places that are sometimes marked with tears and fears.
Where the days blur into months, which turn into years, and you’re in the middle of the somewhere — but not having arrived anywhere.
You may have left the wilderness, but you are still on your journey towards the Promised Land.
It’s where you’ve departed from the narrow spaces of life that have once confined you, but now you’ve gotta find a way somehow to arrive at the destiny that calls you — the sweet spot of life where you find yourself true before God and alive before men…
And transitions can be scary.
You don’t know how they start, or when they’re gonna end.
You know that this is one day a story you must share, but today, you’re struggling to just live through.
You know the ending may be okay, but the present doesn’t feel that great.
But it’s in these lean places of life that we have to remember:
Transitions are places for tender graces …
Because God accomplishes some of His most significant works in those scary spaces.
David — we met him.
He was the youngest of the sons, assigned to feed the sheep behind the back of some mountains, hidden from the eyes of men and tucked away from where all the actions and events happened.
And on his numerous pastoral jaunts, it was two things he kept up his sleeve.
His sling and his harp.
The harp was his guitar-like instrument, one that he used a lot when the sheep were grazing, and he felt most alone, in the obscure nowhere.
With no one seeing or hearing him, he’d sing his lung out, often crying, always worshipping with all his heart.
It was one precious instrument he had; an article that delivered the desires of his heart.
When the night rolled in and his sheep fast asleep, you’d find him again; sitting and staring at the dying ember, strumming on his harp, ready to break into the concert of one.
He’d pierce his aloneness with the songs of his heart to the God he so loved — because there were many solitary battles he had to fight, battles that on hindsight actually prepared him, lonely wars that upon reflection truly strengthened him.
And you see, we don’t often see it — but it’s in these transition places where the enemies often attack us the most.
When you’re alone and feel lonely, and you miss the sense of what God is doing, or the direction that you ought to be taking, because nothing seems to be happening. It’s right here when the enemy taunts and threatens to usurp your identity, your great destiny…
But David — that valley-singing, pebble-slinging, and later on giant-slaying shepherd didn’t know it back then — that there was power resident in the songs he sang, that there were hopes re-birthed and dreams re-made when he decided to worship the God that stood towering above all his mountains.
I bet he didn’t realize it then, how his heart was his dream factory, and how he could step into his dream if he could just sing it…
He could step into all the beautiful promises God had prepared for him…
He could step into all the abundant spaces and the anointed places if he would just trust Him...
Those ancient hymns of praise would awash him with breaking joy.
The waves of faith and tides of thanks would make even the mountains quake to his voice.
His tenor would become a tremour that would pass from the valleys into the ears of the Almighty who eyes were in fact, all turned towards him.
He didn’t know it then that mountains always need mouths to move. That divine truth needs delving in until they are devoured within, that these truths could then break our yardsticks, bury our fears, birth our courage…
Singing those songs formed David, and later on, crowned him.
His song changed his soul, composed his stature, made his substance.
And it was one song at a time, one battle at a time.
When we feed our soul with God, and starve our heart from wrong; even when our smallness squares us straight in the face, He changes us, He enlarges us.
Our hearts expand and we are no longer who we once used to be.
We see God sustaining us with surprises in our story.
He gives us the dreams of our hearts that we’ve once buried deep within.
So may it be our quiet resolute — never to give up, never to lose hope.
Sitting waters never carry. But we can do something new! Let’s move till we find our flow, sing till our old voice croaks, read till our spirit lifts, and laugh till our fear dissipates.
Let’s find ourselves there alongside David, adancing…
“When the year dies in preparation for the birth of other seasons, not the same, on the same earth, then saving and calamity go together make the Advent gospel, telling how the heart will break, and therefore it was in Advent that the Quest began.”
CS lewis