One Easter my mother tried something new. Instead of a basket on the dining room table full of colored grass and jelly beans, my sister and I awoke to a bunch of strings tied to our bedroom doorknobs. One by one we followed each strand to its end, somewhere in our house. There, wrapped in pretty paper, was a small gift, like a white marble egg or a pack of barrettes. It was a delightful morning, so fun for us little girls to imagine where each string would lead.
That morning we happily dropped our strings in favor of the gifts Mom had hidden for us, but being “at the end of one’s rope” is usually how one speaks of loss and despair. As long as there is rope the possibilities are endless, but where the rope ends so do the possibilities. Or so it seems.
To come to the end of one’s rope, one must have had a long struggle, holding on for dear life, grabbing and pulling the rough cord hand over hand, staring down at each prospective length with expectation and hope until hope runs out. Then the dispirited moment of collapse and release. But this is the moment, on my knees God raises my head and eyes to Him. It is the moment He has been waiting for.
God always wants to begin something new in me but often I am staring down at my own interests, unwilling to see Him. It is only when I run out of rope, when my efforts fail, that I turn to see what He is offering. What looks like the end is only an opportunity to find God’s gifts of new beginnings.
The mind governed by the flesh is death, but the mind governed by the Spirit is life and peace. Romans 8:6
Meeting God at the Park 