Hallelujah Even Here, Lydia Laird

“So spacious is he, so roomy, that everything of God finds its proper place in him without crowding. Not only that, but all the broken and dislocated pieces of the universe–people and things, animals and atoms–get properly fixed and fit together in vibrant harmonies, all because of his death, his blood that poured down from the cross,” Col.1:18-20, The Message.

Suspension. It speaks of being in the in-between seasons. “In the middle of the in-between; in the middle of my questioning, over every worry, everything, Hallelujah, even here” sings Lydia Laird in her song. In the middle of brokenness and dislocated relationships. The space where my spirit throbs, immersed in the reality of the spirit realm as something that’s already been accomplished before seeing it move forth in the natural realm. The space where the atoms of my anger can get “properly fixed and fit together in vibrant harmonies” rather than the relational schism that lingers from the chaos.

Suspension. It speaks of heaviness, as in shifting seasons, grieving the loss of a loved one, either through death or circumstantial partings, or a heart that is processing change. Wikipedia actually defines suspension of unbelief as “the intentional avoidance of critical thinking or logic in examining something unreal or impossible in reality.” Emotional suspension is not a comfortable state of being in our rapid-fire culture. We beg for the painkillers to numb the hurt and “skip ahead” to the dreaded new normal,where maybe it won’t hurt so much, instead of “giving space for God to do His own work,” as Hannah Anderson so simply states in Humble Roots, (p.111). She goes on to encourage us that “Because God is greater than your heart…you can trust Him to care for you when your heart breaks through disappointment…He can handle the depth of your emotions,” Anderson, p.114. I have experienced this when I let impatience take over in my relationship with my children. And then I’m faced with disappointment in myself. In the dis-appointments, when I’ve “missed” the appointment I could have seized in the teaching moment; in the dis-ease, when I’m trying to figure out why I’m in pain; in the distress, when I’m trying to help walk my child through teen struggles; in the discouragement, when I’m faced with my own lack of courage or unmet expectations; in my displeasure, when I’m dealing with my own anger issues. He is there in the midst of it, causing “the rage to still, every wave at Your Name.” He helps me find my way out of it. I have but to take His hand so He can lead me, because He knows the way: “He made a path for His anger…He made His own…go forth…and guided them in the wilderness…He led them on safely, so they did not fear, but the sea overwhelmed their enemies,” (Psalm 78:50-53). So I can speak to my soul, that He will help me find my way out when I don’t know the way. And He will lead me safely on; I will not be overwhelmed, but He will overwhelm my enemies, both at large and within.

So in the in-between of joyful seasons or plenty and loss; in the in-between of grief and joy; in the in-between space is where God wants to meet me. It’s the space where He wants to build something new in me, the space He wants to reveal a new truth about His nature to me. And while we journey through the unexpected circumstances in life, we can hinge our expectations on Him. 

“When one chapter closes and another is still not ours, the beauty we get to experience is seeing how the Father provides in the now and not yet,” Ruth Chou Simons, Gracelaced, p. 171.

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