Saint Patrick's Day & Hebrews

I haven't done much to celebrate Saint Patrick's Day (except for accidentally wearing green?) but I did listen to the rendition of Saint Patrick's Breastplate that my friend Tyler made for me three years ago after I pestered him about writing a new tune for it... maybe with banjo.  (Sorry, I don't think I have a great way to upload Tyler's version.)  I wasn't fully prepared for the emotions that would swamp me as I listened to the words of that prayer.  Three years ago I was deep in one of the hardest springs of my life.  It was filled with what felt like a never-ending chaos of drama, of relationships crumbling, of people making poor choices and bringing catastrophic consequences down on their own heads (and others', sometimes.)  Also, I was getting ready to leave Bloomington and go settle down in China for three years.  All of these things have a way of messing with a girl's head and leaving her spirit dizzy and exhausted.

Photo by Todd Cravens
I'm sure that I'm forgetting other factors in what made that spring so insane.  Mostly, I remember singing Oh God, my soul is in despair, so I remember You pretty much every day on my walk to work. 

This spring feels like a less traumatic cousin of that spring.  I'm once again preparing to move around the world.  There's conflict and relational drama, some of which I'm involved in and some of which I'm a witness to.  The fatigue -- spiritual and mental and emotional and physical -- is real.

But in the midst of all this, as was true three years ago -- there is the truth of what Name I'm bound to, more securely and salvifically than Odysseus bound to the mast of his ship.

The book of Hebrews has been in my mind a lot recently as I ponder how grateful I am to know that the Son can truly understand my feelings as I struggle to live faithfully.  And I am so very thankful for the example that I have in Him of One "who for the joy that lay before Him endured a cross and despised the shame." (Heb 12:2)  I'm glad to know that He is the One I'm running towards, even on those days when the run feels more like a slog and the way seems awfully dark and precarious and the terrain isn't what I imagined it would be like. 

He's a prize far better than the pot of gold at the end of any rainbow.


  1. "the Son can truly understand my feelings as I struggle to live faithfully" needed that today. Thanks for sharing your thoughts and words.


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