Coach Kinsey: October 2014

Oh Love That Will Not Let Me Go

My granddaughter's face reflects my heart
Yesterday I was bellyaching to God. . .

God, I’m irritated at you.  You know how exhausted I am.  How long this year has been. How long the past eight years have been.  All of the schooling, and working, and planning, and dreaming. All of  the waiting and uncertainty.  All of the shattered and unfulfilled dreams.  All of the insomnia.  All of the emotional turbulence. What is the point?  Really!  Enough is enough.  Time for you to step in and relieve me of my pain and discomfort. Haven’t I learned enough?

Not pretty, I know.  But real.  Real frustration.  Real impatience.  Real dissatisfaction. Real me.  Still demanding, still entitled, and still not wanting to wait on God’s perfect timing.  Still needing the refining fire.  Ugh.  

The transformation process can be miserable. Dark. Long.  Difficult.  Confusing.  Maddening. Yet, the transformation process is crafted by hands of love.  I can view it as punitive or as a privilege.

Yesterday as I awoke my aging, demented mother, I turned on her worship music.  The hymn “Oh Love That Will Not Let Me Go” wafted across the room.  It pierced my soul. 

Who on this earth will ever love me in such a way that they will intentionally cause me pain and discomfort in order to make me more beautiful?  No one. 

But God will. 
His love rises above my bellyaching.  Amidst His own tears, He does what is best for me.  Never content until I experience all of Him. 

Oh Love that will not let me go, I rest my weary soul in thee. 
 Thank you my Abba.  I love you too.  And, I’m sorry I lost sight of the love behind the pain.  I’ll stop my bellyaching now.

The most beautiful rendition of this song . . . ever:

 Oh Love That Will Not Let Me Go

O Love, that will not let me go,
I rest my weary soul in Thee;
I give Thee back the life I owe,
That in Thine ocean depths its flow
May richer, fuller be.

O Light, that followest all my way,
I yield my flickering torch to Thee;
My heart restores its borrowed ray,
That in Thy sunshine’s blaze its day
May brighter, fairer be.

O Joy, that seekest me through pain,
I cannot close my heart to Thee;
I trace the rainbow through the rain,
And feel the promise is not vain
That morn shall tearless be.

O Cross, that liftest up my head,
I dare not ask to fly from Thee;
I lay in dust life’s glory dead,
And from the ground there blossoms red
Life that shall endless be.