Her Sad Days Are Gone: Ashley Palmer
“Comfort, comfort my people,”
says your God. “Speak tenderly to Jerusalem.
Tell her that her sad days are gone
and her sins are pardoned.
Yes, the LORD has punished her twice over
for all her sins.”
Isaiah 40:1-2 NLT
For the past week these words have been reverberating in my head. They have been germinating in me longer than that—like most folks raised in the church with any interest in Isaiah, I am very familiar with the first and last lines of Isaiah 40, proclaiming comfort for God’s children, shouting to make straight a highway for our God, so that one day we might rise on wings like eagles and run and not grow weary and walk and not grow faint. But comfort. Comfort. Comfort my people. That is what God says first.
I have been a comforter since my adolescence. Maybe before that, but definitely since then. Since I was about eleven years old, most of the closest relationships I’ve had have been primarily defined by my role as a comforter. I played therapist to a friend, to a boyfriend. Listening. Providing advice. Mom-ing them. And each time, those relationships have been marred by that imbalance. And the relationships ended in pain and bitterness.
Comfort, comfort my people. I have always read that as God speaking. Telling me that I am comforted. And it is. One of the clearest times that I have ever heard God speak is when one of the Wesley interns was teaching our small group Lectio for the first time, when I contemplated the words of Psalm 139: “you hem me in, behind and before,” and in the midst of those words heard God speak through one of my favorite songs—“you were a million years of work, said God and his angels with needle and thread, and they kissed your head and said you’re a good kid, and you make us proud.” God has comforted me. God has held me close. God has been a good father to me.
But this past week I have heard the first two verses of Isaiah 40 as a summons as well. Comfort my people. Speak tenderly to Jerusalem, the city of the kingdom of God, the church. Tell her that her sad days are gone. That her sins are pardoned.
The people I once comforted, I comforted them outside of a Christian community. I couldn’t rely on anyone else to care for them. I was all they had.
Now, when anyone needs comfort, we all respond to God’s summons. Comfort my people. Speak tenderly to my church. Tell her that her sad days are gone. Tell her that her sins are forgiven in the name of Jesus Christ, the Lamb of God, the risen King. A highway has been made, and He has come. We need to hear that in its worldwide register. In the midst of brokenness, war, suffering, division, and death, God offers His whole church comfort. Our sad days are gone. Our sins are forgiven. And He is coming soon to heal all the brokenness of this world.
But equally, we also need to hear that in its tender, personal register.
This year, my friendship with Peri has embodied this growth, this healing in me and her both. Peri’s been through a lot, and she’s been learning this year that at last her sad days are gone, and the sins that she used to confess over and over are pardoned. At the same time, Peri has given so much love back to the community and to me personally. She’s always willing to serve in whatever ways she’s asked to, she’s been a beacon of love to any woman who walks through the doors of Tthe Wesley, and she proclaims God’s love wherever she goes.
One night when Peri was mourning and weeping, I hugged her like my mom hugged me when I was little. Making little circles on her back. Rocking back and forth gently. Telling her that she was safe. That it would be okay. It’s the first time I’ve ever hugged anyone like that. She felt the difference too. God was there with us. Comforting. Speaking tenderly through my lips.
Peri hasn’t been the only person with whom I have heard Isaiah’s words echoing back at me. This year, so many others here have been able to hear and comprehend that at last their sad days are gone. To hear God speaking to them tenderly, for the first time or once again, through the people around here. I’ve seen God’s comfort at the altar during worship when people come up to pray, when Adam engulfs them in a hug, when Peri and Lani and Breanna and I all hold each other in a group hug. I’ve seen God speaking tenderly and honestly in mine and Adam’s community group, when the quieter guys speak up and when new people feel comfortable enough to be vulnerable, in the real and concrete friendship we all share. I’ve seen the forgiveness of sins as we all wrestle with grace and tell one another that in the name of Jesus Christ you are forgiven, absolved, washed clean in the blood of the Lamb.
And in the face of that, I can do nothing but offer praise to God, for healing us, for giving the growth, for turning mourning into dancing. There is still mourning, as long as we live in this world that is damaged by sin, but God weeps with us and speaks tenderly to us. And so we comfort one another in a web of love, where there is no burden, because we hold onto each other and God holds onto us.
Ashley Palmer (a LA Tech graduate of Computer Science and English) is a blessing to The Wesley. As she continues to live in Ruston, she works as a remote Software Developer for Praeses, LLC in Shreveport. She is also a fantasy novelist currently editing her first novel: Among the Skies. In addition to writing, Ashley enjoys making attractive websites and apps, digital art, reading, and good food. She is kind, knowledgeable, and devoted to her relationship with the Lord. She is also a member of our Wesley Discipleship Team. We love her and are thankful to have her in our community!