Monday: Psalm 59-60; Habakkuk 2.12-17; John 16.1-15

From: Aanchal Narang

“I have many more things to say to you, but you cannot bear them now,” You said. You said this to your disciples before You left them. There are things to be said, yet they will stay unsaid for now. Peter and James and Thomas and Mary would understand what You meant a little while later, because You said you would be gone for just a little while. But I don’t yet understand.

There is a fullness and a ripeness that you promise Lord, that I have yet to live out. Is it because I cannot yet bear it? Are my shoulders not yet broad enough to carry it? I ask these questions from a long season of lack. It is poetry how the personal can reflect the corporate. Lent holds a divine tension—a tension between what we know and what has yet to happen. Between what is promised and fulfilled and what still has to be worked out in time. It is a time for waiting in the tension.  

But what does our waiting beget? Why do you give news before the news comes? What is still yet to be said? It seems to me that this divine tension is one I will sit in for all my life. Even in the fullest of times, when the fruit is ripe and your presence is abundant, it is only in few and treasured moments that You feel enough, fully, deeply enough. But maybe that’s it. Maybe this ache we live in all our earthly days is the point. On this side of heaven, while we are apart, nothing, at times not even You, will ever feel enough. But that, I hope, will make seeing your face, hearing the yet unheard words, finally being in the fullness of your presence, that much, much sweeter.

I have a hard time writing bios but love to write in general, run, and dance to bad music. I also like to hang out with people so we should hang out. And dance to bad music.