Faithful Paradox

When Vince was in grad school, money was tight and ends often didn’t meet. Our dates consisted of waiting in line at Krispy Kream to get a free donut and then coyly stepping out of line. It was not uncommon to see us perusing the aisles at Sam’s on a Saturday, gleaning the free samples for lunch, walking out with full bellies, despite being empty handed. For our fancier date nights, Chipotle burritos were $5.99, so we would split a burrito, get an order of chips and salsa from Chile’s for .99 cents and enjoy every bite together. Those days overflow with fondness of memory.

During these lean years, we would figure out how to hand-make most of our family’s Christmas presents using whatever skills and leftovers we had. One year we melted down our mostly used candles, utilizing the wax to make new candles for our loved ones. We used discarded sour cream containers as the candle forms. Another year, I made hand sewn napkins for each of the women in our families.

I remember that year I went to the fabric store and looked for the cheapest options for fabric. I found myself in the remnant section. The remnant pieces were those that were left-over after the valuable pieces had been used up; they were scraps, trace leavings of what was once yards and yards of usable merchandise. Remnants; the leftovers, the fragments, the bits of discard.

This morning as I was reading my Bible, I found myself in 2 Kings 19. King Hezekiah and the people of God are in a dire place. The king of Assyria has come and ravaged God’s people, threatening them with annihilation, mocking God, calling to question his strength. Hezekiah sends men to the prophet Isaiah and they ask him to pray, saying, “lift up your prayer for the remnant that is left” (2 Kings 19:4).

The remnant that is left. These words jumped off the page to my eyes. As I considered why, I stopped to listen and pray and in the silence of that moment, I felt the Spirit whisper to me, “Kirsten, I am the God of the remnant.”

I find myself in a place most days where much of me feels like the embodiment of a remnant. I feel right now that many pieces of me have been used up. The faith I had feels like it remains in scant offerings. The hope I once possessed feels fragmented and oftentimes indiscernible. There are only trace pieces of the joy that was once present in my life. Most days, tears still spill over, ever eager to breach the dam of my eyes. I feel like my life is a remnant of what it used to be. Despite the fact that my life is still full of good things, most days I feel broken, washed up, battling to endure and full of uncertainty.

As we come very close to the two year anniversary of Ezra’s passing from this life, I think I had hoped I would feel a little less remnant-like. The reality is, however, that just about every day is still hard. Every day still requires a searching for hope. Every day is full of fighting against fear. It’s hunting for joy in the mundane. It’s choosing to believe that God is good even as I still sit in the pain and confusion of loss. What I have feels like a remnant of faith. In days past, faith, joy and hope felt like they were, at times, a flourishing tree planted by streams of water. Right now, what is left feels like a tiny seed; a remnant of the flourishing tree that was once my life.

Seeds are a remnant; although they are still alive, they are living in a dormant state. Seeds often appear brittle and lifeless. One may even wonder if anything could grow from the speck that is seen; the last remaining piece of a plant; the remnant.

And yet if God is the God of the remnant, he is the God of the seed. He takes what is small, seemingly insignificant and lifeless and he grows life and beauty from the thing that seemed dead and dried up. God, the Seed-Designer, designed seeds in such a way that in order for them to produce fruit, they must be buried and die in order for new life to grow. He takes the remnant and causes new life to grow.

I feel that this is where I am. He has taken what is left of me, the remnant of what I have, and it has been buried; buried in order to grow new life. The remnant of my heart that remains is in the hands of the Seed-Designer, the Remnant-Architect, and he is in the process of causing new life to grow. I know it, even if I can’t yet see it.

And as I wait to see what fruit He will produce, there are many times these days I wonder if the remnant of faith I have left is enough. Many times I wonder if the remnant of hope I have will ever flourish again. Many days I wonder if the remnant of joy will ever blossom, if the clouds that seem to endure have become the norm.

Yet as I consider God, I chose to believe that the faith I have left is enough because it is the faith that God has given and God does not make mistakes. The joy that remains is enough. The remnant of hope that endures is all that is needed. Because as he whispered so tenderly this morning, God is the God of the remnant. If, according to Jesus, faith as small as a mustard seed is powerful enough to move a mountain, clearly the issue does not lie with the remnant of faith that remains, but rather with the object of my faith.

When I gaze at the tiny remnant of faith, joy and hope that remains, I feel discouraged. I wonder what could ever grow from this broken, confused, grieving woman. But if I stop to listen and really consider that God is the God of the remnant, then I am reminded that it is he who is the one who produces the growth. He is the one who causes faith to be restored, joy to blossom and hope to flourish. He is the God of the remnant. It is his work to accomplish. I am not responsible to cause what remains to grow. I am simply responsible to surrender; to trust that God, who is faithful even when I am faithless, can take whatever tiny seed remains in me, even if it is brittle, broken and nearly dead, bury it and cause new beauty to grow. It’s where his glory shines most brightly.

Second Kings 19 goes on to say that, “ the surviving remnant … shall again take root downward and bear fruit upward.” God’s people were defeated, discouraged, weary and without hope unless God intervened on their behalf. He is the God of the remnant. He took what was still surviving and caused its roots to tunnel deeply into the earth and bear fruit once again. He will do the same for me.