Broken-Heart and Ceiling-Staring Days

I’m delighted to introduce you to one of a newest monthly contributors, Rachelle of www.rachellerea.com.  She comes to us with a passion for the Lord and a writing style that penetrates the heart.  May you be blessed and encourage by the gifts of God Rachelle has to offer us through life from her perspective.

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Yesterday was a broken-heart day.

A drive-on-and-on, until the trees nearly fold in on me on that stretch of highway day.

A pump-the-words-of-the-country-song-from-my-lungs-and -into-the-windshield day.

I couldn’t even pinpoint why I was grip-the-steering-wheel angry, frustrated, anxious. All I knew was that my heart was broken. Not by a boy. Not by a bad grade. Not by anything identifiable. Just…Sky gray with hovering clouds. Stress of a semester rolling toward the end. Sense of accomplishment from graduating community college combined with head-whirling nervousness of looking ahead to university. I felt as if I could drive on into the unknown, toward the last exit I’d never before followed home.

So many dreams coming true this year.

Graduating with my associate’s degree. Going on a mission trip. Gearing up for the small, private, Christian university I’ve wanted to attend for so long.

Yet so many dreams still grow.

Daring dreams. Dreams of taking flight and letting go. Dreams of learning to love, learning to serve as only He can do through me, learning to surrender.

Completely.

Maybe it was hormones. Maybe it was not enough prayer, not enough protein, too much pale-face-worrying.

My truck ambled along and took me home. I dropped to my knees in the kitchen, the house empty, quiet, still. My heart roiling with emotions and beating against the walls of my ribcage as if seeking an escape.

Lord, I don’t know what’s wrong with me and jelly beans won’t fix it.

I pushed away the colored candies on the counter. I stared at the ceiling, at the waves of white forming in the chandelier light, and I let go.

Or maybe I grabbed onto something for the first time that day. Maybe even for the first time in a long time.

So there I knelt on the kitchen floor, ceiling-staring, when I heard the Whisper.

Remember the Sistine Chapel? (No, I am not making this up.) The Sistine Chapel, God? Yes. My brows furrowed as I tried to excavate every fact I know about the Sistine Chapel. Michelangelo painted it. And he painted it well. Imagine that for a moment. So I did. I imagined Michelangelo. Caressing the ceiling with a tiny brush. Making broad swipes across the expanse. Rubbing the crick in his neck and the ache in his back as he let go and let loose one of the pieces of art that causes people to ceiling-stare, wonder, pray.

And I realized that he didn’t just paint. He did a lot more than paint. He wondered. He imagined. He thought. He planned. He released the plans and re-planned. In a word, he dreamt. He probably did a lot of ceiling-staring. On his back, on the floor, at the mercy of the Spirit working within him to develop the masterpiece that brings people to their knees in worship.

There I was, on my knees. Not exactly in worship. More like desperation. Pain. Surrender of my splintered soul. And God whispered, I do that with you.

Whoa.

God paints me just as He wants me to be. Petite. Athletic. Curly-haired. Introvert. Lover of rain, chocolate, dogs, and hope.

God paints my life. Caressing every scene with His grace. Making broad swipes via people who change me, books that influence me, words that inspire me.

And I realized that He doesn’t just paint. He does a lot more than paint. He wonders. He imagines. He plans. In a word, He dreams. Before the world began and right here, right now, He ceiling-stares at me. At what makes me laugh (soap bubbles popping in my face), makes me cry (anyone feeling unloved), makes me hurt (broken-heart days), and makes me sigh (tiny smiles from little ones). He loves me that much.

He loves me even when I don’t love Him as I should, don’t serve Him as I should, don’t listen to Him speaking to me as I should.

He loves me on twirly-skirt days and on broken-heart days. He loves me when I’m giddy with dreams come true and when I ceiling-stare. And He loves you, too. On the broken-heart days, the laugh-‘til-you-cry days, the read-while-it-rains days, the realize-how-imperfect-you-are days.

He loves you.