Why God Won’t Just Make It Easier

Why God Won't Just Make It Easier
Photo by Francisco Gonzalez on Unsplash


The last two years we lived in Singapore were, in a word, hard.

The summer prior we’d said goodbye to several families and had to move 2 miles from where we’d been living a glorious communal existence with them.

Within months of living in our new apartment, my allergies kicked in like they’d been making up for lost time. I burned through every over the counter allergy drug Mustafa Centre had to offer within about 2 months.

When I finally broke down and saw an allergist, he put me on an experimental drug that was supposed to eradicate ALL my allergies. Most people saw dramatic results within 4-6 months. I quit after nine because I’d seen no change. He was baffled.

I was just plain tired of it.

In the meantime, he’d put me on a prescription allergy drug as well, which I had to take immediately upon waking.

If I didn’t, forget about it. By 10 am I’d be scratching my face off and unable to see straight through a fog of sneezing. I’d pop some Benadryl, point the kids toward the TV, request that they not kill each other before daddy came home, and let the Benadryl slam me into symptomless sleep.

Homeschool? Barely. Getting out of the house to do fun stuff with the kids? Not much. Meals? Housework? Nope.

On top of that, Erik’s job had become more demanding, and the kids were lonely without the constant presence of friends which had been their previous existence. Yep, it was just. plain. hard.

So often during that time I would cry out to God and ask Him to change it.

I raged. Questioned God. Doubted His love. I pleaded with Him to just make it easier. One day, He responded by gently pointing out that what I was really asking was not to have to need Him quite so much.

We Just Want It to Be Easier

Nobody signs up for “hard.”

It’s not a popular class. We treat it like an elective, but it’s a core course. It’s where we learn to come to the end of ourselves and to trust in His abundant resources.

We say we want to grow in Christlikeness, in character, in faith, but when it comes to the reality of what it takes to get there? I know I for one am often inclined to say, “Um . . . no thanks.”

When trials come, I’m always tempted to say, “God, just make it easier.” I want to jump to the end where I’ve learned the lessons and grown and are all mature and glowing. (that’s what happens, right? Tell me that’s what happens)

But I think back on those two years in Singapore. Yes, they were hard. But were they worth it? You bet.

I can’t tell you how much God met us, and how He used that situation for good (not the least of which was to take us back to China, which was our dream), how He shaped me in that brokenness.

So I have hope. God meets us in the hard, not to make it easier, but to show us that He is strong enough for it if we will just own our deep need for Him and trust Him.

 

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The Eye of the Storm

We haven’t yet had the full force of hurricane season here, but I anticipate that it will be interesting. In our kids’ school binders, several of the teachers have typed in a “hurricane alternative” curriculum for the days we’re stuck at home. Like a snow day I guess! I’m sure we’ll get to know the weather reporters on the local news well.

I feel like a weather reporter myself sometimes when it comes to updates about our transition, “The subtropical storm depression Gina from last week has temporarily subsized, but from the north side of the house we are detecting a storm surge from potential tropical storm Ethan. Parents, be advised.”

Yes, if it’s not one of us, it’s another. As I lay awake the other night praying about this, God reminded me that He has seen thousands, hundreds of thousands, nay probably millions of people, through transitions. He walked through those with them; He will walk with us.  He controls the wind, the rain. He is my eye of the storm, the shelter.

“Seek the Lord and his strength. Seek his presence continually!” Psalm 105:4

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Mountain Climbing

You know those guys who lead mountain climbing expeditions up Mt. Everest? The ones who seem unstoppable, who go without oxygen and on whom you can trust your life? My husband could be one of those guys. That’s how he lives, like he’s got 6 extra hours in every day and nothing phases him. You think I do a lot? He can run circles around me (actually, back when we first tried running together, he literally would run circles around me. Not great for my self-esteem. Hence, we do not run together).

If I were on an expedition to Everest . . . well, I just probably would never do it. It sounds hard and cold and life-threatening, and I tend to avoid those three, certainly any combination of them. This is why I have my husband – he helps me keep climbing.

In coming back to Orlando after a wonderful summer in Minnesota and Colorado, I feel like I’m coming back to a mountain climbing expedition in the form of continued transition. Over the summer we had a glorious break from trying to figure out how to do life. Within 24 hours of getting here, I had this vague, overwhelmed, tired feeling and I realized, “Oh right, I was climbing this mountain.”

There’s no way around it. It’s the steep learning curve of finding our bearings. Transition can feel like that – you’re striving toward that place where it’s easy, where relationships are already formed, where routines are established, where you’ve got this, but you’re not there yet. You won’t get there if you just give up and stop climbing.

We’ve made a lot of progress in the right direction and I’m thankful. Still, even though we’ve been in the States for almost a year, this is our first fall in Orlando and it brings lots of new experiences to be conquered. We’re getting higher but we’re not done.

So I have to daily ask God for help to keep climbing, to put forth the effort to initiate, to seek out what we need, to face the areas where I still feel unsure, to keep engaging with our hearts. I know eventually we’ll get to a place where the terrain evens out a little and we can just enjoy the view for a little while. Until then, deep breath, one step at a time.

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Christ Who Gives Me . . .

This morning I received an email from Ethan that said, “I can do all things through Christ who gives me.” I jokingly wrote back, “Gives me what? What is it Ethan? The suspense is killing me!”

But I was encouraged. This is his budding faith in action, as he was gearing up for what we both knew was going to be a rough day, reminding us both who we need to trust. He has a quarter paper due tomorrow, and in defiance of the word “quarter”, he has chosen to instead try to do it in about a week. The last seven days could be titled, “The Butz family learns the meaning and consequences of deadlines.” This morning he still had about 4/5 actually written, but not edited, and no bibliography. Nothing like a challenge for Monday morning!

To make it more interesting, Megan went to a birthday sleepover on Saturday night with 20 other girls where they were allowed to stay up until 1:30 am. I don’t remember the last time I willingly stayed up that late. It was probably my freshman year of college, before I realized that I can’t function beyond 10 pm. We learned yesterday that Megan can’t function well herself on 6 hours of sleep. Today, we were still feeling the residual damage.

All that added up to an emotional day, the kind of day where my heart struggles to stay engaged with my kids, to enter in to their emotions fully, to just sit with them in their tears. Part of me wants to let them just cry it out, to say, “Yep. I get it. School is hard. Life is hard. I’m totally with you kiddo,” and another part of me wants to move them through it as quickly as possible back to a place where they can actually finish the work and put us all out of our misery.

At times, I think, “This is too much God. My heart can’t stretch any more. I can’t sit through another meltdown. I don’t have what I need for this.”

But throughout the day, I’ve remembered Ethan’s email. I can do all things through Christ who gives me . . . strength, yes. But really, fill in the blank. Patience. Compassion. Gentleness. A bigger heart. Whatever it is we need.

Continue ReadingChrist Who Gives Me . . .

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