Keep Pressing. Keep Holding.

As a baby I was a bit jumpy and preferred to be swaddled.  I still like the safe feeling of tucking the covers around me, being held securely.  It's the same holding still of  glue to repair small broken pieces, and maybe even sometimes it might be the holding of a vice.  It is a holding until  I am sure the pieces can hold on their own.  Hold and then test and see and, if necessary, hold some more.  

And maybe that is what happened after a lovely night of ice cream with my husband.  We reviewed the recent year of teaching for the warning signs of needed repair, for the pieces that glue still needed to hold together.  

Keep pressing.  Keep holding. Pressing holds me still and sure.

And somewhere in that ride home, it was as if suddenly a piece fell off of me and my hand was floundering to find it on the dark floor mat, seeking to grasp something I couldn't see. Why did I suddenly feel like I was rolling around in uncertainty of my decisions?  I needed to hold tight, but I felt like pieces of me were breaking apart.

Keep pressing.  Keep holding. Pressing holds me still and sure.

My contentment  with today had suddenly fallen away. I stepped into the mud of the worry of tomorrow and the mire of the shadow of yesterday.  My focus was suddenly no longer sure but blurred.  Burdens of failure were bonded to my soul: failure of worrying the small issues to big; failure of seeing turmoil instead of treasure; failure of making me the centerpiece of the divine; failure of cataract seeing.

Keep pressing.  Keep holding. Pressing holds me still and sure.



And the very same eyes that had moments before looked at today with thankfulness and rest were eclipsed  by those failures.  And my soul was no longer quiet, but impatient and scared. My heart no longer found contentment, but raced in apprehension.

Keep pressing.  Keep holding. Pressing holds me still and sure.

My husband, who was trying to share practical words of encouragement, couldn't imagine what he'd said.  But sometimes we hear what we fear and the heart beats to battle. And then we battle people on the outside when we should battle the demons who are warring on the inside.

Keep pressing.  Keep holding. Pressing holds me still and sure.

On this beautiful, cool  moonlit night, it was as if I had walked through the squeaky cemetery gate into a dark night of worry about right decisions. The demons of doubt haunted my trust and the path that was once clearly illuminated was lost in a haze.

 Keep pressing.  Keep holding. Pressing holds me still and sure.

Pressing holds me still and secure.  When tears suddenly appear in my eyes and sadness eclipses my joy, I have learned to press hard for the moonlight. In clarity, I know those moments  are treacherous illusions of reality, and while I may not change what I see before me, I can securely bond  the pieces of life with joy  by changing how I see them.

Keep pressing.  Keep holding. Pressing holds me still and sure.

Not that I have already obtained this or am already perfect, but I press on to make it my own, because Christ Jesus has made me his own. Brothers, I do not consider that I have made it my own. But one thing I do: forgetting what lies behind and straining forward to what lies ahead, I press on toward the goal for the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus. Let those of us who are mature think this way, and if in anything you think otherwise, God will reveal that also to you.  (Phil. 3:12-15)