I know it’s tempting to light a match to the dumpster of 2020 and walk away. It’s been rough.
But let’s not be hasty. Because in between the pandemic and the racial tension and the election and the Tiger King, there was good.
Scripture tells us to give thanks in all circumstances. Not necessarily FOR all circumstances, but IN all circumstances. In the midst of trials, we always have reasons to be grateful, because God never stops doing good to us. And I’ve found that when I practice gratitude IN my circumstances, it’s not such a leap to also thank Him FOR the challenges as well. He is in it all.
So as we look back, as always, we mourn and we rejoice. We give ourselves the necessary space to grieve the losses, so we can make room in our hearts to celebrate the goodness.
To that end, I offer another year-end review for you (click on the graphic below to download). I hope this helps you look back and mine for the good while you also honor what you have lost. And yes, hopefully, it will all help us look forward to 2021 and trust that better things are on the way.
Have you ever played a game driving where you look for a certain color car? Like you say, “Let’s count all the blue cars.” (this may or may not be something only parents trying to entertain young children can relate to).
When you start looking, suddenly they’re all you see. Try it. Choose a color, and look for it around you. You notice it where you didn’t realize it was before. It’s everywhere, right?
I’ve realized gratitude works the same way.
The Practice of Gratitude
As we come upon Thanksgiving, I wonder if we are struggling to find things to be grateful for. It’s been a wild year. It would be so easy to focus on the negative, on what we lack, on what we’ve missed.
And gratitude is something we often do when we feel like it, or when it’s expected. Like after the giving of a gift, or when someone lends a helping hand. (Are people giving gifts right now? Anybody helping someone else in person?) It’s not something we always think to do.
But I’m also learning that gratitude is something we have to practice. It has to become a liturgy in our lives, something that flows out of us like breath.
And when we do, when we start looking for the good in our lives, we start to see it. We’re training our eyes to see God at work. It’s not that He hasn’t been there all along. We just weren’t seeing it.
This fall our pastor led us through the book of Ruth. There’s a point in the story where the author says, “she happened to come to the part of the field belonging to Boaz.” It got us talking about this phrase, “It so happened.” We say it sometimes. But really, does anything just so happen?
Those “it so happened” moments are God. We need to train our eyes to recognize that fact.
Training Our Eyes to See the Good
So when we make a habit of saying “thank you, Jesus,” about the good gifts in our lives, we begin to see that He is at work all around us. We recognize that those “it so happened” moments didn’t just so happen. God never stops doing good to us.
For me, it helps to start at a granular level. I have breath in my lungs today. There’s a roof over my head. I have clothes on my back and food in my belly. Every one of those things is a gift of grace I did not earn or deserve.
When we start there, we see good everywhere. We see it in a timely text from a friend, a blessedly cooler day here in central Florida (it’s November for Pete’s sake!), in satisfying work. It’s our kid getting through another day of online classes, a moment of feeling normal in the middle of a pandemic, seeing a familiar face on a call.
There’s so much we take for granted every day, so many ways God is showing up and giving to us, and our souls are blessed when we acknowledge it. We are reminded that we are not alone-He is with us and He is for us. Always.
God’s goodness is the blue car we can see everywhere if we train our eyes to look.
“Oh, that men would give thanks to the Lord for His goodness, and for His wonderful works to the children of men! For He satisfies the longing soul, and fills the hungry soul with goodness.” Psalm 107:8-9
In so many of my conversations with others, I heard phrases like, “I don’t understand why I’m so tired,” or “I’m not usually this impatient,” or “Why does this seem so much harder?”
I have a simple answer: we’re not living at full.
By that, I mean that there is a slow and constant drain that keeps us from living at a full tank every day.
When we lived overseas, we became aware of this dynamic. We likened it to our lives as a bucket of water, the water as our life energy. The challenges of living cross-culturally were not poking huge holes in our buckets that drained us. Then why were we so tired?
Because the challenges, while often small, still made holes. They were just little pinprick holes. From those holes, life drained.
One pinprick, OK. A few, no big deal. But we had a thousand pinpricks, and that adds up.
Living with the on-going challenges of the pandemic is like a thousand pinprick holes in the bucket of our lives. Constantly adjusting to a different way of living is exhausting. No, it’s not as big as in the beginning when we were stuck at home. But think of the mental and emotional energy that a series of small events in one day can take:
What Drains Us
Remembering to bring a mask with you everywhere.
Awkward social greetings because you don’t know if your friend is OK with physical touch.
The isolation of working from home.
Being surrounded by family while you’re trying to work.
The kids need you for their calls.
You forgot to mute yourself.
Or you forgot to unmute yourself.
Hours of trying to read people over zoom.
Zoom butt (my husband complains of this daily)
You just got exposed to someone with the virus.
Watching people argue on social media.
You are the one arguing on social media.
We don’t see eye to eye about the pandemic.
We don’t see eye to eye about politics.
It’s unclear where either of us stands on the pandemic or politics so now it’s awkward to have a conversation.
Another event date that should have happened passes by.
And all that on top of normal life events that would be a challenge even without a pandemic.
Every day there are a thousand little things that drain us. A thousand ways life is different, not the way we knew, not the way we hope.
We could pretend it’s fine. Just look on the bright side. Console ourselves with, “Well, it’s better than it was.” But those thoughts don’t fill holes.
So what do we do about the drain?
We need more filling. So much has drained us this year, and few of us have taken the time we need to refill. It’s hard to find the time, honestly, between zoom calls and online learning and navigating new social situations.
We can’t control the situation we live in, but we can be kind to ourselves by recognizing that this “new normal” isn’t normal. It’s not the way we are meant to be. And we are human. It wears on us to live like this.
We need this grace. Grace to acknowledge that we’re not operating from full tanks right now, and that’s normal. When we’re impatient and tired and it’s harder than we think it should be, we need to remember that we’re running low. Deep breath.
These days, our buckets drain more quickly. We need to go to the well of God’s grace or the well of relationships in our lives more often. Not just daily but even moment by moment. Every hour we need Him.
We need more of God. We need more kindness. More grace. More of that which fills us up while the world drains us. In that sense, there’s something good about this season. It can make us more dependent, keep us closer to that which ministers to our souls. We may not be able to stop the slow drain, but we know where to get filled up again.
These days, as I said in my last post, I avoid social media most of the time. It’s just not good for my soul. Every once in a while though I will jump on Twitter and see what’s trending. All too often, I see a hashtag that includes the word, “cancel.”
We like to cancel people these days. More often than not, it’s a comment or an action from that person that offends in some way. Sometimes it’s justified-we need to call out wrong behavior.
But more often than not, it seems, it’s something that person simply didn’t think through well enough before it happened; if they had, they might have refrained.
Worse yet, maybe it happened years ago. Decades ago, even. Back when their brains weren’t fully developed, or before they carried the cultural gravitas they have now. Back when they were unknown, or before they changed their mind on an issue (yes, we can change our minds and our behavior). Certainly, before everyone’s every movement could be documented and displayed for the world to see.
But too late! It doesn’t matter when or why, it’s in the world now, and enough to make a blanket judgment about you. You are voted off the island, eliminated from the crowd, erased from existence. And not only you, but anyone associated with you.
I’m all for holding people accountable for their words and actions. There’s a growing recognition that much of what happens in our society has been and continues to be damaging to many. That must change. On certain issues, we cannot remain silent or we add to the problem.
But this idea that we will cancel someone because of one moment-this I cannot reconcile with the gospel.
Cancel Culture in the Bible
Cancel culture paints the world in black and white. You are good or bad, weighed on a scale. You tip out of favor with one wrong move, and there’s no coming back from it. The gavel has come down and you are irreversibly in the “bad” category.
The good/bad split doesn’t account for the reality that we are complex people, capable of great blessing and harm, each of us. It doesn’t account for redemption. It doesn’t recognize the gospel.
I think of Zaccheus. There’s a man we would cancel today. He betrayed his own people in his job as a tax collector. The woman caught in adultery? Canceled. Peter denying Jesus three times? Canceled.
When we don’t have the lens of the gospel, it makes sense that we would cancel. We create our own moral code, a tenuous assumption of goodness until we prove otherwise. The world waits with its scarlet C, ready to judge.
The Gospel of Grace
But the gospel says there is redemption. There is hope for those who fail. Grace for the fallen. New life after the wrong-doing. It says our goodness isn’t measured on a scale, that forgiveness is possible, and change can happen.
The gospel says there is no one good, not one. Instead, there is One who has come and done what we cannot do-wiped the slate clean, broken the scales, torn the veil that separates us from love and acceptance and freedom from top to bottom.
Don’t think I’m suggesting we not call people out on their sin. There is good accountability, a higher standard being raised in areas long excused. That is important.
But in all ways and at all times, we are called to treat people as Jesus did and does.
What would Jesus say to the person today who commits a cancel-worthy crime?
Jesus Doesn’t Cancel Us
I think of the woman caught in adultery, of Zaccheus, of Peter. I think of how Jesus responded to them. He did not excuse their sin. He knew exactly what they had done.
But in his response to them, there was no shame. There was no dismissal of them as people. He looked straight at them with compassion. He clearly acknowledged their sin and then invited them away from it. There was hope for restoration.
And restoration happened. Zaccheaus paid back all he took and then some. Peter became the foundation of the church. Jesus calls out sin, and then He calls us out of it into new life.
With the gospel, there is hope. With cancel culture, there is only condemnation. It goes against our sense of justice, but in God’s eyes, no one is unredeemable.
We ought to hold people accountable for their actions. Sin should be acknowledged. We must invite people to repentance. And yes, that might mean consequences-loss of position or influence. But it should not involve condemnation. Shame has no place in the gospel.
God Doesn’t Cancel Us
Full disclosure? I’ve been afraid to write this post. So many times I’ve seen people take issue with something a writer says or does, and the result is, “We aren’t going to read anything she writes anymore,” as though that one comment or action negates all the goodness or truth that person has written. I fear being canceled.
But I don’t want to live under that tyranny. I hope I never sin against someone in what I write. It’s possible I might ignorantly offend. If that happens, I would hope someone would come to me and invite me to repentance. I would hope for the opportunity to set things right.
May we be like Him, speaking truth to sin, but with a kind call to turn from that sin. After all, it’s His kindness that leads to repentance, not shame.
God never cancels us.
“Jesus straightened up and asked her, ‘Woman, where are they? Has no one condemned you?’ ‘No one, sir,’ she said. “Then neither do I condemn you,’ Jesus declared. ‘Go now and leave your life of sin.'” John 8:10-11
It finally hit me, around the end of May, that the amount of time I was spending on social media and the news was destructive to my soul.
To be fair, there was a lot to know about it. But as I said in my previous post, maybe it’s not all for me to know. Or at least, not all for me to carry. And carry it I was.
But consuming those sources was habitual. I checked my notifications each morning. Over breakfast, I read the news. Hopped onto Facebook a couple of times each day to see what was new. Pulled up Twitter to catch what was trending.
Until I didn’t. Until I decided that I could, and should, change the liturgy of my life.
Liturgy seems like an antiquated thing. I think of gregorian chants and mindless rote recitations. But liturgy, I’ve learned, simply means the habits we embrace, the order of how we live.
I grew up in a church with a pretty clear liturgy. I didn’t realize how much I missed it until recently, as I’m in a program of spiritual formation that meets for quarterly retreats. During the retreats, we practice praying the hours-in the morning, before lunch, before dinner, and before bedtime.
The question isn’t, “Do I have a liturgy?” but “What kind of person is my liturgy shaping me to be?”
It’s important that we examine from time to time the habits, the order of our days, and ask, “Is this shaping my soul the way I desire? The way God desires?”
We are often unconscious of the liturgy of our days.
What Is the Liturgy of Our Days?
Throughout my walk with God, I’ve taken up the popular habits of Bible reading, prayer, fellowship. I see the value of these to incline my soul toward God and others. What’s more challenging for me, and I imagine most of us, is seeing the value of the ordinary, “non-spiritual” (seemingly) habits I have.
I never thought much about how what I read or listen to shapes me as much as my study of scripture. If I had enough of the latter, I thought, it wouldn’t matter.
It’s easy to separate our lives into the spiritual and the secular, but I’m learning that all of life is an opportunity to pray, to experience the presence of God. I start my day with devotional time, but what about the rest of my day?
If we desire to be attentive to the presence of God, do we order our days in such a way that we make space to hear from Him? Or are we filling our minds with noise, internet arguments, the anxiety of the world? Not only do we rob God of space He could have in our lives, we rob ourselves of peace.
Seeking a more peaceful liturgy to our lives seems critical right now. We cannot control the chaos of the world, but we can choose how much we allow it to infiltrate our souls.
So I deleted Facebook and Twitter off my phone. I check them occasionally just so I’m not completely ignorant of what happens in the world. I usually read a book or work on a puzzle over breakfast instead of reading the news (does doing puzzles make anyone else feel really old?).
It felt strange, at first. I feared missing out. And it’s true, I’m not the first to know something anymore. But I am redeeming a space that feels freeing. It’s like I shut the door on a world of noise and am learning to enjoy the silence.
Admittedly, there’s a temptation to fill the space I’ve reclaimed with alternative noise. I’m not yet at the point where I simply eat my breakfast in silence; hopefully, I’ll get there. But shifting even this small thing makes me conscious of all that I am taking in, and it forces me to question all the habits of my life. Do they make space for God or not?
I’ve had days where I’m worn out, and all I want is a hot bath and a TV show. Or I want to just recline on the couch, probably eating chocolate. You know, self-care.
Some days maybe it’s a long walk or a good book. Some retail therapy or a day at the beach. All good, all good.
Except if you’re like me sometimes you come back from those experiences and you feel just the same as you did before-stressed, worn out, distracted, as Bilbo Baggins famously said, “like butter spread across too much bread.”
Why?
When “self-care” doesn’t cut it
I’ve realized lately that much of what we call self-care doesn’t get to the heart of the issue. It’s an escape, a distraction, a temporary balm. I get away physically but I carry the weight with me. It doesn’t address the deep lies and idols that have probably been the culprit in my detour from a place of health.
So what it is that we need to do instead?
I know I need to begin with being more mindful. When I am, I’m less likely to get to the place where I need to get away from it all, where I am just spent.
We need to be mindful of how we got here in the first place. What’s been missing in my life that has worn me down so much? Chances are it’s not a lack of baths or chocolate (for sure not a lack of chocolate on my part).
How did we get here?
Is it that we haven’t been spending enough time in the spaces and relationships that are life-giving? Have we wandered away from foundational truths that nourish our souls?
Or is it something more practical-have we simply let other people or our own egos plan our schedules to excess? Have we kept an unsustainable pace?
We need to be mindful of the accusations of the enemy that assault us. Mindful of our negative self-talk. Or simply mindful of the noise that shuts out the chance for us to hear God’s voice speaking life.
We need to be honest about where sin or foolishness had led us to live in a way that is unwise, that drains us. Where we have chosen the path of least resistance rather than the healthiest one.
Maybe the way we can care for ourselves the most today is the thing that takes the most courage.
True Self-Care
It might be drawing a stronger boundary with the person who takes too much from us. As hard as it that might be, it is good for both parties.
Maybe it’s sitting in the reality of how something is impacting us, and speaking necessary truth to it. That’s hard work, and it takes time, but that’s how we win the battle for our souls.
It could be a time of confession of where we have lived beyond our limits. That’s humbling to admit, as is scaling back, but it gives our souls space to breathe again.
Self-care might look like ditching the chocolate for something healthier (I mean we can keep this as a last resort, of course).
When we’re tempted to hole up by ourselves, we might actually need to initiate connection with someone who feeds our souls.
Maybe sitting in agonizing silence is the best thing for us. Then we can hear what our souls need to say.
While we’re on that long walk, self-care means dwelling on the truth rather than stewing over our worries.
Self-care isn’t always what comes easiest or most naturally. We have an enemy who wants to keep us worn down, and if he can’t keep us from that, he’ll make sure our time away from activity doesn’t really refresh us.
So we have to be intentional. Wherever we encounter resistance in our souls we need to ask why. What might our souls ask for that requires more of us than a temporary getaway? Let’s choose self-care that truly restores.
Prompted by a newsletter request, I prayed one morning for missionary kids around the world experiencing COVID with their families. Knowing just a few situations in other countries, and how varied they are, I paused in my prayer as I realized that if I knew all those situations, I would be overwhelmed.
This current reality is overwhelming enough as it is. It’s more than our hearts are used to carrying. More than our hearts should carry. And yet we are.
There are more issues crying for our attention than we normally have in a much longer span of time. The intensity of the issues we’re facing is daunting. They’re literally life and death. I don’t have to look far to read strong arguments telling me what I should believe about all of them, and that I should act on all of them.
I look for a balance between knowing what is happening but not knowing so much that it disrupts me in unhealthy ways. While I want to care well for the people around me and be engaged in important issues, some days it feels like too much for my heart to carry.
So what do we do?
Remember who loves us (and them)
What I remembered that morning as I prayed for missionary kids is that God knows every situation. He is not overwhelmed. He is love itself, poured out for all of us. There is no limit to His compassion or mercy. That compassion covers us as we navigate this difficult season, and it covers all that we cannot reach. We are not alone in caring for the world; He cares far more than we ever could.
A verse that has been my encouragement during this time is 1 Peter 5:7 from The Message, “Live carefree; He is most careful with you.” He is careful with us, and with all the hurting people in the world. We can trust Him with all of it.
Ask what is ours to carry
John Eldredge says our souls were made to carry villages; right now it feels like we are being asked to carry the world. While God desires for us to love our neighbors well, He knows we are finite in our capacity to care for everyone practically. Scripture commands us to carry one another’s burdens, not be buried by them. Instead, we carry them to the cross.
So what is ours? That’s between us and God. We need to ask Him to show us what our hearts should carry. He puts different passions on different peoples’ hearts. Sometimes in our zeal, we communicate about our own passion in a way that implies others must care about it to the same degree; again, we need to ask God. What is ours? That which is, we carry wholeheartedly.
Benevolently detach from the rest
John Eldredge also talks about “benevolent detachment”- the practice of letting go and giving things to Jesus. Caring, but not carrying. As we do, the weight falls away and we are able to live and love as we were created to.
For me, part of benevolent detachment has meant stepping away from social media and the news for a time to let my heart settle. It was causing too much anxiety and triggering me to want to control things I simply cannot control. The weight was too much.
Instead, I have tried to focus on engaging more in what I know God has given me, leaving the rest to Him. Over time I have slowly re-engaged, but with a careful watch on my soul and how I’m responding. My hope is to let anything that feels too heavy push me to prayer where I allow God to decide what my action should be.
Most of all, my prayer lately is, “Help me to care deeply, but hold loosely.” I want to love wholeheartedly, but I know that the world is too much for my heart to carry. I will love with everything in me and trust the carrying to God.
We have a weathered wooden board in our bathroom that we repurposed as a towel rack. It is deeply weathered from wind, rain, and probably sand (I don’t remember where I found it). There are layers of paint or maybe stain that have worn off to varying degrees. It has cracks in it. There’s discoloration on the edges I can’t identify.
I love that board.
Who knows what hands it has passed through or how it came to look the way it does. I love it because when I look at it, it tells me a story.
It’s beautiful. And you could never, ever, make another one exactly like it.
Our souls are that board.
Beautiful, unique, telling a story unlike any other. Meant to be a blessing just the way we are. Worn and useful for the Maker’s hands.
But gosh the world tells us we should be anything but, doesn’t it? It pushes us to be bigger and better, to go higher and faster. It says, “Be put together, spiritually sound, never struggle, do it right.” This country was founded on a pursuit of happiness that leaves no space for suffering or failure. It’s a game of “avoid the heartache and you win.”
You don’t get beautiful that way.
The Blessing of a Weathered Soul
The apostle Paul knew that. He wrote, “Not only so but we also glory in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope.”
I think of our kids. When they encounter challenges, I want to rescue them. Instead, I try to remember that this weathering is necessary for their souls. He’s doing something beautiful in them through it.
I think of the painful seasons God has brought me through. I hold the lessons I learned from them like treasures. They are the marks on my soul that bear witness to His work, His faithfulness, and His goodness, shaping me into my true self.
I think of our world right now, and what we’re going through. And yes, it’s awful and I wish it weren’t true, but I know that once we’re through this, there will be good that comes. As we weather the storms, God doesn’t stand far away. He is right here, next to us, in the middle of it all. He has compassion on us, but He knows how it shapes us too.
We aren’t called to an unscathed life. So we patiently endure. We trust that nothing is wasted. He uses everything to beautify us, to reclaim us as His. May we surrender to the process of weathering.
In February, we finished off our last high school soccer season. We knew each game might be our last, so we tried to take it all in. We took lots of pictures. My parents came. The girls got sweatshirts made to commemorate it. While it was sad to end, we had closure.
Closure is important. We teach our ministry staff, when they come back from overseas assignments, to build a RAFT (Reconciliation, Affirmation, Farewell, and Think Destination). In other words, we take a good look around and see what needs healing, celebration, and grief. Then we look ahead with hope to what is coming next.
That aspect of Farewells-saying goodbye well to a season, both to people and places, and allowing ourselves to grieve well, is essential. When we know something is going to end, we pay attention. We notice what we’ve taken for granted. The ordinary suddenly becomes precious and noteworthy. When we are cut off from saying goodbye well, it is difficult to fully engage with hope in the next one.
It’s so devastating and unnatural when we are denied the opportunity for good closure. This season we’re in is full of cut off endings.
When We Don’t Get Closure
When our daughter went to school the Thursday before spring break, we didn’t know it was her last day. We had no idea she wouldn’t wear her school uniform or drive carpool again. If we had, we would have done it (and the days leading up to it) differently.
This spring we all missed so many events, but maybe the most difficult are the lasts that we won’t be able to get back. The things we can’t reschedule. Watching the last club soccer season. Celebrating the end of a year-long program. Enjoying the last days of work before retirement. A friend moved away and you didn’t get to say goodbye. You had to leave your host country and you don’t know when (or if) you’ll go back.
I’ve wondered why this feels so wrong, this cut-off grief. I wonder if it’s because we ache for shalom-the way that things are meant to be. The peace God intended. We bend toward justice and righteousness. It is good to desire what is right, and this just feels wrong. When we work toward healthy closure, it’s like a satisfying ending to a book. We are shalom people. We celebrate goodness. Ending in a place of restoration and peace is in our wiring. It’s so jarring when we are kept from that.
So What Do We Do?
I’ve contemplated what to do about this abrupt grief we feel. We begin by acknowledging the weight of it. It’s another part of living in the reality I talked about in my last post. It doesn’t feel right because it isn’t. Like stopping a race before the finish line, or quitting a book halfway through a chapter, it’s unnatural not to finish well.
It’s been helpful for me to recognize this. It’s a particular kind of grief to not only miss something but to know that you’ve missed it entirely. We carry emotion in our bodies-it’s one more thing we need to name.
I hope that experiencing this cut off grief makes us appreciate what we do have. When we are able to finish well again, I hope we do. Realizing how important closure is, I hope we savor what we have even more. This is a reminder to love what we have well when we have it, because we don’t know when we might lose it.
These undone places can be a reminder that we were made for something more than this. We were made for another world, one where shalom is never shattered. If we put too much hope in things of this world, we will be disappointed. While we grieve the unfinished chapters, let them remind us that the greater story ends well.
And rather than shrugging it off as lost, it’s worth the energy to find ways to have some kind of closure. This Friday would have been our daughter’s graduation. Instead of that, her class (thankfully small) is gathering to do a socially distanced tailgate party. It’s not what we planned, but it’s still good.
“You don’t get to decide reality. You just get to enter it.”
That’s a phrase a friend of mine shared years ago, and it changed my life.
Reality is what is true. It’s true whether or not we believe it to be true, whether or not we want it to be true. It just is.
How We Respond to Reality
I think of this a lot, as I see people choosing the parts of our current reality they want to embrace. Not all of it-just what fits the picture we want to hold onto.
Some of us prefer optimism-let’s find the silver linings and look on the bright side. There’s a benefit to that, but not when it’s delusional. Not when it turns a blind eye on the plight of the less fortunate.
Some focus on the gravity of the situation, with just cause. We can’t look away from the reality of the pain this is causing so many, including ourselves. We can’t avoid the hard truths, but in doing so sometimes we miss the good that is happening.
Sometimes it’s not optimism or pessimism that keeps us from reality. It’s just willful ignorance. A stubborn refusal to name what is real. Like an athlete who says, “No, I’m good to play” when they are obviously injured.
This reality isn’t one that any of us would have chosen, but it what we have. We don’t get to decide if we want it, but we do have the opportunity to enter it with Jesus at our side.
My friend Iris recently said, “Jesus will not meet us in fantasyland. We meet Jesus at the foot of the cross in reality.”
Our current reality is rough.
Each morning I wake up and wonder if maybe this pandemic is a nightmare we can shake off.
We can’t.
So if we can’t shake it off, how do we enter it?
How Do We Enter Reality
We enter it honestly, confessionally. As with any trial, we are being stirred. This situation shows us where our idols are-where we hold too tightly to comfort, security, control, success, peace. So as we recognize them, we confess them. We agree with God about the hold they have on us.
We speak honestly about our emotions. So many are stirred in us in situations like this-anxiety, grief, anger, frustration, discouragement. God wants our unedited hearts. He can handle them. We speak the reality of how we feel, knowing that He will sift through it and bring us to His version of what is happening.
We don’t pretend that things are better than they are. Nor do we take God out of the equation and predict despair. We look suffering in the face and see God standing with us in it, holding us, comforting us. The more we are willing to enter suffering, the more we can minister to others in it.
We enter it knowing that while we are all in this together, we are experiencing different realities. For some, this has been a time to slow down. For others, there’s more work than ever. Some might find it’s a bit of a relief. Others wonder how they will make ends meet. When we don’t recognize the fact that our realities are not the same, we withhold compassion and understanding. But when we do see that others are experiencing this in a different way, we give them space and grace to be on their own journeys.
We enter it with Jesus. We meet Him at the foot of the cross in it, knowing that nothing about Him is changed by our circumstances. Nothing He has done for us is taken. We know that He sees all we are going through. He has compassion on us. His power and wisdom will carry each of us through the reality we are in. Nothing in this situation scares Him, derails Him, makes Him wonder what to do. Nothing about how we are going through it, whether we’re “doing well” or not, phases Him.
And because of Him, we enter it with faith, hope, and gratitude. We look around to see where He is at work and we celebrate it. In this reality, there is goodness, because God is here. Those of us who know Him ought to be the ones most able to walk it with hope, because we have an unshakeable foundation in the midst of the harshest realities.
When we stare in the face of reality and still praise God, how much more is He glorified? And how much more do we see that He is greater than any reality we encounter? He is God of anything we walk through.
