(This post started as a spiritual word of the week. “Restore.” You might think it got out of hand, that I overwrote or that it was a waste of time. As I was writing, I thought all of those things. “Rita, stick to storytelling,” I said. But then, I had to finish what I’d started. Back to storytelling real soon.)
Reaffirm, rearrange, reawaken.
Rebirth, rebuild, retrain.
Require, repair, remake, and revive.
These things are the Lord’s domain.
Recruit, rectify, refine, recompense.
Restore, refill, and remain.
Reward, resupply and recreate.
Jesus, renew me again.
Reimagined, resealed, reestablished.
Released, revealed, reframed.
Repaired, regathered and reconciled.
All this, His work. Our gain.
***
The Lord cannot be replicated. He remembers my desires. My goodness barely resembles His. He gives what I can never repay. The best I can do is to relinquish, repent and then receive. Too often, I need to be reminded.
Thanks be to the One True God, the one who has refurbished, reinvigorated and repurposed me when He should have altogether rejected me. He reapplies grace when mercy would be more than enough. Failure, fatigue and futility beg me to retire, but He recommissions me to higher goals. Circumstances empty my hope and other necessary things. He replenishes me. He reinvests in me. Yes, me!
I should mention that it’s not me, in my power, who repels Satan. Evil does not recoil at the sound of my name.
Mine is a pattern of good works and retreat and review. I rehash. I try and retry to measure up. Sin restricts access to His throne, yet my invitation has not been recalled. He comes to me as often as I request … with answers—a push to go forward or a way of escape. I am needy, asking Jesus to repeat His promises daily. I replay His words. I recognize and study His voice. I am never out of His influence or reach. He is faithful to our relationship.
Fear and childish rebellion tug on me—pull me away, but I’m still His. He claims and reclaims me. I am desperate for His attention because I have no other redeemer. He is faithful to resolve my struggles and frustrations before I become unraveled. His reception is warm. We reunite.
I do not resent that His reply is correction or discipline. Seeking forgiveness takes me to my knees. I think I can’t get up, but He cleans and recovers me. He tells me I cannot be replaced because He’s the one who knit me together. It’s then that I realize His restraint. Were it me whose reputation had been harmed, I would have punished—fully reproached, permanently reproached. But He longs for me and tells me to remain, which is for my sanctification. He readies me for what I cannot fathom.
No one has yet explained how both sadness and gratefulness can so quickly reduce me to tears, but I know that he counts my tears and records each of my sorrows. Reasons to rejoice overwhelm me, but my lungs are weak and my voice is broken. Still, I rehearse my song. It’s remarkable that Jesus accepts my notes of praise, shouted or whispered, spoken or unspoken. He judges none of my praise as redundant. He fills me with sweet refrain.
***
Well, I’d finished this odd meditation …
on Rs that are followed by E?
Then, the obvious word comes to mind as I closed.
Without it, where would I be?
I’m embarrassed. It should have been at the top of my list.
For the word gives me rest—repose.
Is it remedy? Redo? Reconstruct? Or resist?
Great words, but not for this prose.
Other words, I know will become obsolete
They will burn up like stubble in fire.
But this one? Just wait! There’ll be talk in the streets.
Twill be sung by that heavenly choir.
Resurrection!
No matter the language or alphabet.
No matter in city or field.
No matter the nation or continent.
To the Lord every person will yield.
Rita K.
(Revised 10-12-26)
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