Don’t give upon me, and I won’t give up on you.
You were there when I shook my fist at the sky.
You were there when I fell to the earth and cried.
Do you remember how it felt just like we died
And rose again?
Don’t give up on me, I won’t give up on you.
I walked beside you in the canyon flames,
Deep as an ocean and hot as a thousand suns.
We barely survived.
Don’t give upon me, I won’t give up on you.”
These words are a selected passage from a song by one of my favorite songwriters, Andrew
Peterson. These words haunt me. Though this song is a plea written from a husband to his
wife, it is not the connotations in which the ears of my heart hear it. There are moments when
my life, full of faith, can understand the doctrinal warp in hearing this refrain as a kind of
conversation of my soul with the Creator of the Universe who is inherently good and faithful.
But, most days of late, that reality bypasses my tiny mustard seed of faith, and instead I find
myself screaming this refrain from the muddy, murky depths of my heart to the God of it all,
“DON’T GIVE UP ON ME, AND I WON’T GIVE UP ON YOU!”
Even as I write it, I understand the absolute audacity of the fullness of its implications. The steadfastness of the Father is written on every page of His Word to His people. This is the real deal, the Truth. But, alas, we see through a glass darkly. His thoughts and vision is far above ours…and sometimes our relationship to Him and His character are colored by our wayward feelings and human perceptions.
We FEEL we are a hair breadth away from giving up on Him…hanging on by a fragile strand of hope…and we think surely He must feel the same way about us. And yet in all our disappointment in unanswered prayers and in all our fear in His lack of intervention, the only thing worse, is His not being there at all. And so we scream, “DON’T GIVE UP ON ME, AND I WON’T GIVE UP ON YOU!” As if to make some pact with Him of faithfulness or to emotionally manipulate Him into never leaving us alone in our pain.
We know it is wrong, but our bleeding, torn up hearts cannot be reasoned with
Sometimes the cry of our souls goes on and on and on…echoing down the shadowed halls of our days, weeks, and months. We function. We live. We work. We play. But, always, singing like a battered phonograph in the background, is the melody…”PLEASE, don’t give upon me, and I won’t give up on you.” When the circumstances of our lives don’t change, when wounds go unhealed and sickness goes uncured, and the Devil bares his teeth at us, we hear the strain a little louder. We throw our hands over our ears, but we can still hear it in our head.
I do not know why this is and why it must be. Is it refinement? Is it chastisement? Is it a journey in sanctification? It is it the story of Job rewritten in with our name? Is it God allowing the tempter to wage war against us, or our own invitation to the enemy’s temptation? Is all this wondering why just a distraction?
What any of us living with daily heartache really wants to know is this: Will He grow weary of my doubt? Will He give up on me? And what if I give upon on Him? What then?
What if in all of our sorrow we are hearing the haunting refrain in reverse person and context? What if instead it the Father calling to His prodigal son or daughter…” DON’T GIVE UP ON ME, DEAR CHILD! I WON’T EVER GIVE UP ON YOU
Thus says the LORD: “In a time of favor I have answered you; in a day of salvation I have helped you; I will keep you and give you as a covenant to the people, to establish the land, to apportion the desolate heritages, saying to the prisoners, ‘Come out,’ to those who are in darkness, ‘Appear.’ They shall feed along the ways; on all bare heights shall be their pasture; they shall not hunger or thirst, neither scorching wind nor sun shall strike them, for He who has pity on them will lead them, and by springs of water will guide them. And I will make all my mountains a road, and my highways shall be raised up. Sing for joy, O heavens, and exult, O earth; break forth, O mountains, into singing! For the LORD has comforted His people and will have compassion on His afflicted.” But Zion said, “The LORD has forsaken me; my Lord has forgotten me.” ”Can a woman forget her nursing child, that she should have no compassion on the son of her womb? Even these may forget, yet I will not forget you. Behold, I have engraved you on the palms of My hands; your walls are continually before me.” (Isaiah 49:8-11, 13-16)
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