“I’ll have a Choco Brownie Extreme Blizzard, please. Small.”
I watched as the Dairy Queen hostess grabbed a paper cup, filled it with chocolate ice cream and added the mix-ins. Once blended together, she pushed a red plastic spoon into the frozen treat and headed my way.
Just before handing me the mouth-watering treat, she flipped the cup upside down.
WHAT was she thinking?
The Blizzard still intact and now right side up, she handed it to me with a smile.
Frozen doesn’t pour. Good thing.
The other night, I was reviewing Psalm 62. I stopped when I finished verse 8, Trust in him at all times; ye people, pour out your heart before him: God is a refuge for us. Selah.
This invitation to trust and pour out our heart has been a favorite of mine for years. But I noticed something new.
The statement, ‘God is a refuge for us,’ follows on the heels of ‘pour out your heart before him.’
Sorrow. Pain. Loss. Anger. Resentment. Fear. Anxiety. Confusion. Guilt. Jealousy. All those not-so-attractive emotions and more come spilling out when we pour out our heart before God.
Yet God still wants to be with us, still commits to be our refuge.
But what if our heart is like the frozen DQ Blizzard? Or like an old jar of honey so crystalized when it’s squeezed nothing comes out?
What makes a pourable heart?
Is it a life that’s never had a searing loss, horrific pain, or immovable mountains? No.
Perhaps the difference between a hard heart and one where grace flows through the brokenness is the quality of humility. Choosing humility over pride--admitting we are not in control, confessing God’s ways are best, and laying down our rights—could all be avenues to a pourable heart.