There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven:
a time to be born and a time to die,
a time to plant and a time to uproot,
a time to kill and a time to heal,
a time to tear down and a time to build up,
a time to weep and a time to laugh,
a time to mourn and a time to dance,
a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them,
a time to embrace and a time to refrain,
a time to search and a time to give up,
a time to keep and a time to throw away,
a time to tear and a time to mend,
a time to be silent and a time to speak,
a time to love and a time to hate,
a time for war and a time for peace.
What does the worker gain from his toil? I have seen the burden God has laid on men. He has made everything beautiful in its time... Ecclesiastes 3:1-11
I've discovered that there is a time to write and a time to ponder what has been written. The latter of the two is where I seem to find myself lately. Being a writer is interesting and perplexing. I have had plenty of opportunity since March to ponder the things I've written and practice the truths I find in the writing. God is faithful to teach us as we journey through each day. The willingness to listen and obey doesn't come easy sometimes, especially when we feel we've been done wrong. It seems that 'seeking justice' is the only thing that a person can think about as anger boils up inside you.
Recently, I've had to deal with that "rubbed raw" feeling in my heart. It felt like a badly scraped knee (the kind you get when you're a kid), but it was on my heart instead of my knee.
Red, raw, and bloody painful.
After I ran to my Heavenly Father's arms crying; pleading my case and telling Him all about how hurt I was. I heard Him gently say "Pray for the one whose hurt you." Hearing those words was like the sting of antiseptic burning!
(I remember as a child crying out OHHHHHHH!!!!! Blow on it mama, it burns! It burns! as she doused my bloody knee with antispectic.)
The last thing I wanted to do was pray for the person that hurt me, and when I did, it burned. I didn't like it!
But, each time I prayed the scrape on my heart became less raw, and to my amazement I wasn't as consumed with seeking justice any longer. My Heavenly Father knew the matter, and applied His healing balm each time I listened and obeyed His instruction. And once again I learn, my Heavenly Father knows best, even when it stings.
There is a time for everything... a time to write and a time to ponder what has been written.
Dear Jesus please help me be content in whatever season of life I'm in, even when it stings.