trials

When You’re Angry with God

What to Do When You're Angry with God
photo by Ben White

“Mom, what do you do when you’re angry at God?”

This was the question I had to field one night before bed (why can’t they ask these in the morning, when I’m fresh? Haven’t they learned by now that mama’s useless at night?)

The question came after a time of tears over unanswered prayer. He’d been exploring the idea that God cares about even the small details of life. He’d been praying about each of them, trusting that even though they seemed “silly,” they mattered to God because they mattered to him.

Until that one. That one thing that was more important than anything else. In that, he got the shaft. That question was accompanied by so many others, “Why is the answer no? Why this time? Why, when He knows how important it is to me? He could have said no to those other things and I wouldn’t care. Why this?”

And my answer to all those was, “I don’t know.”

But, “What do you do when you’re angry with God?” That one I’ve learned a little about.

When I was his age, I didn’t think it was ok to be angry with God (but I was). God is infallible, never makes mistakes, everything’s got a purpose, right? So we should thank Him and trust what we do not see. All true.

All hard to swallow when life isn’t what you thought it would be.

So I told my son that I tell God about my anger. I’ve told God at times that I don’t like Him, that I hated Him even. I have accused Him of abandoning me. I have refused to talk to Him.

He can take it. Like someone beating their fists against another’s chest, He patiently holds us and won’t let go while we vent. All our anger, our doubts, our questions – God can withstand them. And when I have poured it all out, then I can just collapse in His arms and rest.

After all, He knows them anyway. It’s not like we can pretend with Him. What is the alternative? As our son jokingly put it, “I could stuff all my negative feelings deep down inside into a dark place where I’ll never see them again?” Ha. Right. Except he will see them again. They must come out.

It was heart wrenching to witness this spiritual struggle. On the one hand, it was good for him to learn that God is not a cosmic Santa Claus, a genie in a bottle, a butler to ring for more towels. I am thankful that he was learning to pray, learning to make this faith his own.

On the other, it is hard and terrifying to see people teeter on the edge of doubt and frustration with God. I wanted to grasp our son by the shoulders and out of desperation cry, “No, really, He’s pretty great once you get to know Him!” But it was a necessary battle.

God can handle our anger. Rather than live a false faith, pretending we’re ok, trying to ignore our doubts and questions, we can bring them to His feet and know that He will listen, for as long as it takes. And when we’re done, we collapse in His arms and let Him be all that we need.

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Soldier On, Friends

Soldier On, Friends
Photo by Olia Gozha on Unsplash

There is a constant battle waging for our souls, and I for one sometimes grow weary of fighting it.

There are days I battle discouragement, pessimism, lies, apathy. It would be the easiest thing to let them sideline me.

I know there’s truth that cuts down all those negative emotions, but it takes energy to fight my way back to it. It takes time, and intentionality, and faith.

It’s a tiring battle. Every day we have to take up our cross and follow.

We have to start again, knowing that there will be arrows of accusation and condemnation from the enemy. There will be lies we’re tempted to believe about ourselves and others. Every day we have to fight our way back to the truth. We have to remember who we are and whose we are.

And friends, it’s tough.

The Battle Is Tough

It’s easier to lay down our weapons and surrender.

We wallow in complaining and negativity rather than take up gratitude, especially when it’s hard to find the gold.

Holing up with Netflix and ice cream hoping the battle will cease is the path of least resistance. Easier than the hard work of dragging those lies into the light.

Staying in isolation is easier than inviting others to speak truth into our darkness.

I’m reminded of one of my favorite books, Hind’s Feet on High Places. In it, the protagonist, Much Afraid, is called to the High Places by the Good Shepherd. What she hoped would be a joyous journey with Him is marred by her relatives with names like Resentment, Bitterness, and Pride, who constantly call to her along the way. They cause her to doubt and fear and wonder if she hasn’t chosen the wrong path.

She learns to cover her ears and turn away from their voices. She holds doggedly to the promises the Good Shepherd has made to her, however much they might not feel true at the moment.

So do we.

Keep Fighting the Battle

I want to tattoo all His promises across my arms so they sink into my soul and take up permanent residence there.

If only I were not such a leaky vessel when it comes to the truth about Him and me.

Would that I never find myself in those places where I realize I have listened to the wrong voices and strayed away from that solid ground in Him.

I wish fighting was not part of the Christian life, but it is. We are meant to fight hard against the enemy, and we are meant to be victorious.

Are you fighting the good fight? [ictt-tweet-inline]Fighting is hard and tiring but it’s worth it.[/ictt-tweet-inline]

There is truth to be claimed.

Joy that is ours for the taking.

Peace offered to us.

Solid ground on which to rest.

There is victory to be had.

Yes, there is much that will threaten to knock us off that rock of truth, but there is One who wants to hold us there. He is greater than our enemy. He gives us what we need for the battle.

So soldier on, friends.

Take every thought captive. Fight hard for what is yours. Cling to the truth that combats the lies you’re tempted to believe. Lift your eyes to the hills. Listen to your commander’s voice. Press on to take hold of that for which He took hold of you.

We don’t get to claim truth once and stay there. We fight to keep claiming the ground that’s ours. The more we do, the more we win.

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Moana and the Power of Grit

Moana and the Power of Grit
Photo by Amanda Phung on Unsplash

 

If there’s one thing I hope to say about myself by the end of this year, it’s this: I’m grittier than I was.

When I say grit, I’m talking about courage and resolve, showing up and staying in it for the long haul, doing the hard things that get you places you thought you couldn’t go.

I’ve learned, in the last year, that I am not a naturally gritty person. I like safety and comfort. I like staying in known places where I’m doing well.

The problem is, not much happens in those safe, comfortable places.

You know who has grit? Moana. I’m in love with this character from Disney because she is a great picture of the rewards of being gritty.

Moana lives on an island, where she is destined to be the next leader. Their island is slowing dying, food is scarce. The people are getting desperate.

Moana suggests they go beyond the reef to look for more fish, but her father tells her, “There’s nothing beyond our reef but storms and rough seas. As long as we stay on our very safe island, we’ll be fine.”  He tried to go beyond the reef before and found nothing but heartache and an unforgiving ocean.

Moana tries to stay as her father asks, but the desire to save her people, and the call on her life to be the one to help them compels her to go.

Throughout the movie, we see her waver between doubt and courage, resolve and giving up. In the end, (spoiler alert) her perseverance pays off.

We all have a safe island where we could stay.

And we all have ways God is calling us to live out who we are, asking us to venture into new waters. He calls us to places that test our resolve, places of potential failure, but also great reward.

For me, writing has been that call onto the water. It’s been a challenging and anxiety-ridden ride at times, full of temptation to compare myself to others, wonder if I have what it takes, and be discouraged.

I have tried to be courageous and put myself out there, but often I have wanted to give up and walk away, back to my safe island. To be honest, I feel that right now, today, as I write this.

When we attempt to do something that calls us beyond our comfort zone, it’s tough. We get tired. There’s heartache and failure. Sometimes it feels like the world is against us. Our dreams seem just out of reach. We doubt it’s worth it.

The question is, “Will we keep going?”

It takes grit. Leaving the island takes grit. Staying the course takes grit.

But what’s the alternative? If we stay, our worlds get smaller, until we are stuck on our islands. We are safe, but we aren’t living. Comfortable, but accomplishing little. We miss the call.

So what does it take for us to leave the island, to stay gritty?

In my experience, it’s a combination of being desperate enough to leave where we are, and a clear vision of where we want to be.

It’s the conviction that where we are is not where we want to be in the end, and where we would like to land is worth the risk and the effort. That’s where we stay laser-focused whenever we are ready to throw in the towel.

It’s also the conviction that this is what God has asked us to do. And if He has asked us to do it, He will equip us for it. He doesn’t promise it will be easy, but He promises He will be with us. Grit takes faith, in ourselves, yes, but even more so in the One who called us.

I don’t know what God is calling you to right now. Maybe it’s starting that ministry that’s been gnawing at your heart. Is there a relationship God calls you to fight for when you want to leave? Maybe it’s that book you’ve always wanted to write, or the job you’re not sure you’re qualified for. It might be literally leaving this land and venturing across the sea to a new place. Whatever it is, it’s worth the risk.

Stop staring at the edge of the water. Go. Stay the course. Be gritty.

 

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What I’m Learning about Loneliness

What I'm Learning about Loneliness
photo by Jean Garber

Confession: in this season of life, loneliness is a frequent companion of mine.

If it were up to me, my life would be a constant episode of Friends, Cheers, or Seinfeld, living in the assurance that I belong to a tight-knit group of people whose doors are always open to me, and who are seemingly always available.

Perhaps my expectations are a wee high.

But we all want to be known, to belong, to be pursued, and to be loved. Loneliness feels like a stamp of disapproval. You somehow missed the invitation to the party.

Whenever loneliness entered in my life in the past, I begged God to take it away. This time around, I feel Him asking me to linger in it a little longer, because loneliness teaches me something.

This is what I am learning about loneliness:

It is not an indictment. I keep silent about being lonely because it feels like a judgment; there must be a reason I’m lonely. Like maybe I’m really unpleasant to be around and no one’s telling me (although I’m confident enough to doubt this is the case. I like me. I can’t be the only one). In the void, the enemy speaks shame to the lonely, keeping us locked in silence.

Sometimes loneliness just is. It’s not the result of doing something wrong, or something wrong with you. It’s just a plot thread in this chapter of the story. God’s writing a good story for each of us.

There is a difference between loneliness and being alone. Several weeks ago, my husband went on his first long trip in a while. I was achingly lonely, even though I interacted with plenty of people. Last week, he was gone again for another week, but I felt content to be by myself, breathing in the silence and enjoying more time to think.

You can be alone and not lonely. And you can be surrounded by people and feel terribly lonely. It’s good to recognize the difference.

Lots of people are lonely. Sometimes I wonder how many of us sit in loneliness, wishing someone would reach out. Imagine all of us finding each other if only we stopped being silent about our loneliness. But again, shame wants us to believe we are the only ones.

The lonely ones are probably the most unexpected. My guess is most leaders are lonely. Think of our pastors, our bosses, the famous men and women we admire from a distance.

You know what that distance does? It isolates. The pressure to fit an image, the way position or status makes it hard to relate to others-they make it a challenge for many to find people who relate to them as peers. They might need companionship the most.

Loneliness pulls back the veil. One of the most frightening aspects of loneliness is that it exposes what we hide in our busy activity. It shows how much we hunger for companionship, what we most deeply desire, and how easily our souls settle for lesser things. That is something to be explored, not avoided.

It is an invitation to solitude and silence. Sometimes I shy away from solitude and silence because they feel too much like loneliness. But loneliness invites us into these very practices so necessary for our souls. Here, loneliness is not only a teacher, but a friend in itself, leading us to places where God will meet us.

In the allegory Hind’s Feet on High Places, the protagonist, Much Afraid, has two companions for her journey: Sorrow and Suffering. She loathes to take their hands, but the more she does, the more strength she receives.

Loneliness is another unwanted companion for many of us. But as we take its hand, we may learn it is not to be feared as much as we believe. Rather, it is a place where we can meet God in our deepest hunger and desire, where He can teach us.

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It’s All in How You Look at It

It's All in How You Look at It
photo by Leon Seierlein

So I live in my car.

I mean not really, but it feels like it sometimes. It’s not unusual for me to spend 3-4 hours driving on a given day. And suffice to say it’s not my favorite activity.

Lately, though, my perspective on my mobile prison has been changing.

I’m coming to appreciate this time. After all, usually it means I’ve got kids in the car-not just mine but others. I am privy to conversations they have with one another, about subjects I would otherwise not know. Other times it’s just me and my own kids, talking, laughing, observing, and just existing together. It might be the only time of the day I have their undivided attention, and they mine.

This is also a forced time of solitude. I do some of my best thinking, blog post/book brainstorming, praying, and, naturally, just talking to myself, in the car. I can’t multi-task in here (truth be told, I am writing this post in my car. Yep, I’ve just given up trying to exist in my house). I have to slow down and just be.

Someday I won’t have to spend this much time driving.

I will miss that time with my kids, eavesdropping on their lives. The silence it affords allows me to actually hear myself think. I will have to carve out other time for prayer and pondering, find other ways to be unhurried.

So I could look at all these hours as wasted, or I could see how God is redeeming this time. I could write them off as an inconvenience or I could be thankful for what it brings to my life.

It’s all in how I look at it.

This is true of so many aspects of my life. I despise cooking (is there a stronger word than despise? I would use it), but I’m thankful I have people for whom to cook. Cooking reminds me I don’t have to be the best at something in order to still be a blessing.

I’m not a fan of how much work our house requires, but boy am I glad we have one. I wish there were a way I could clean my house and have it stay that way, but the cleaning humbles me and gives me an opportunity to bless the ones I love.

I would gladly never look another receipt, budget, or anything else related to our finances again. But when I do, I am reminded that we are so very blessed to have what we need, and more.

I wish I didn’t have the responsibility of feeding and walking a dog, but I know how much I would miss her company. She slows me down and forces me to get out into nature. She literally helps me stop and smell the flowers.

Working with people is hard, but what a blessing to have meaningful work. The problems that arise are an opportunity to move toward others with truth and love. The challenges keep me dependent on God.

I would love a struggle-free life, but the trials are what keep me returning to Him. They highlight my humanity and His divinity, and remind me that I always have a place to go for what I need.

What’s the thing in your life you wish you didn’t have to do?

What asks more than you feel like you can give? What road would you rather not walk?

Maybe it’s changing diapers or grocery shopping or homework or conflict management at work or driving all over kingdom come. Maybe it’s something much more wearying and painful.

Whatever it is, none of it is wasted. Someday we will look back and see the blessing in it, God’s hand at work, how it changed us for good.

So why wait? Why not look now for the blessing? Why not choose to see how it can be used for good? It might be a challenge, like panning for gold. But it’s there. God redeems it all. He uses it all.

It’s all in how we look at it.  

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What to Do When It’s Hard

What to Do When It's Hard
Photo by Ben White on Unsplash

 

In the last couple of weeks, I have witnessed all manner of hardship around me. The sudden death of a son. Adopted children wrestling with trauma and fear. Inconclusive test results. Two attempted suicides. A mysterious illness in a child.

Moments like this rattle us to our core. They remind us that the world is fallen, and we are frail. They speak to our smallness, and our need for a solid place.

Pleas to God for comfort and peace and hope are intermingled with the aching questions of, “Lord Jesus, why?” and, “What now?” and “Where are You?”

There is desperate clinging to that which is good, mixed with a wonder and confusion of how we continue to navigate this world that is so hard and uncertain.

And when I ponder it myself, here’s what keeps resonating in my soul:

Lean in.

Lean into His voice whispering through the questions and the confusion, “Come closer, sink deeper. Find a place of solace where your soul can exhale and rest. I’ve got this. I’ve got you.” We set aside what we do not know and grab hold of what we do.

Lean in, friends. Hard. Lean into the One who sees it all. Fall on the One who loves you. Collapse in the arms of the One who is more than able. Lean to the point where your feet don’t even touch the ground anymore and you’re just carried by Him.

He can handle it. There is nothing beyond His strength. He is our ezer kenegdo, our warrior helper, who fights for us and helps us.

Don’t just throw your worries at Him hoping something will stick, hoping for the best. Lean into His promises like your life depends on it. Let your leaning be full of faith, hope, and trust.

Don’t let your unanswered questions drive a wedge of bitterness or hopelessness between you and the very one who knows what you need and wants to walk with you in this.

As Hudson Taylor said, “It does not matter how great the pressure is. What really matters is where the pressure lies-whether it comes between you and God, or whether it presses you nearer His heart.” 

The promise of abundant life is not the promise of a painless life.

It is not the promise of a happy life. It is a promise of resources plentiful for what we will walk through. Here is where we can always lean in and find what we need for the journey.

So lean in with your fists, if you must. Lean in with your wailing and doubts and anger, and beat your hands against His chest until it dissolves into grief and you let Him hold you.

Lean in with the faith of a child and rest. Rest in His comfort and peace, knowing you don’t have to have answers or direction-you just know that someone holds those for you.

Lean into His embrace. Listen to His heart beat for you. Hear His voice speak over you the very words you long to hear. Find what you need.

You can never lean too hard, or push too much. There is no way you will topple Him or ask more than He can offer. He is our solid oak, our life raft, our shelter, our rock in the storm.

Lean in.

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Panning for Gold: What to Do When Gratitude Is Hard

Panning for Gold
Photo by Sharon McCutcheon on Unsplash

 

This is the month of the year when we are reminded to be thankful. Pinterest is cluttered with suggestions for ways to count our blessings. At work one year, someone put up a thankfulness tree, and a sign inviting others to write on a leaf and add to it. Among the turkey and pilgrim decorations are plates and napkins and signs bearing the word, “Thanks.” But the fact is, sometimes, it’s hard to feel thankful.

Sometimes we have seasons when the blessings are hard to see. The job is stressful, and you wonder if it’s even where you belong. Your kids are struggling in school. The loneliness lingers, or your marriage feels old and empty. Depression is a cloud you can’t shake. The test is positive, or negative. Sometimes the hard is so overwhelming the thought of looking for the good feels beyond our reach.

At times like that, when we don’t feel grateful, what do we do?

We pan for gold.

Now I’ve never actually panned for gold, but I imagine that it is hard work. Time-consuming. It requires great focus and a trained eye to look for the smallest bits of gold in the mud. All your energy goes into finding that precious metal. Those willing to look harder found more.

So when I’m in a season where it doesn’t feel like the gold nuggets are right there for the taking, I imagine myself as a gold miner (side note: I HATE the word nugget. Hate. It.). I take more time to look a little harder, sift my life around a little more, asking where I do see Him at work. I look for the smallest blessings. Sometimes I start with, “I am alive today.”

And then I thank Him for them. I thank Him for food, clothes, shelter, health and all that I take for granted every day. It’s good to start there.

Here’s the reality: there’s always gold.

It might only show up in little flakes and specks. But when we look, we see it is there in abundance. We might not experience the big nuggets of victory, but we can claim the gold dust of everyday grace. Share on X It’s breath in our lungs, feet to move us, hands to work, eyes to see. We see salvation, grace, life, and His love and presence. It’s all that does not leave us even in the darkest moments.

The more we pan for gold, the better we become at finding it. We see gold in a kind word, a safe drive, a quiet moment. It’s found in sunrises, fresh air, and every day we get to start again.

We are not asked to give thanks for every circumstance but in every circumstance. Whatever the season brings, there’s gold in them there hills. We can be grateful people in the midst of trial, heartache, pain.

Seek out the evidence of goodness mixed in with the dirt of hardship. Search for the reminders that we are never forsaken, even when the road is rough. His blessings carry us. Pan for gold, friends. Our lives are rich.

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Why God Won’t Just Make It Easier

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Peace and Hope Amidst the Storm

Peace and Hope Amidst the Storm

For the last 24 hours, my phone has been filled with tweets about the coming hurricane in Florida. My friends and I are checking with each other to see if we’re prepared. One of them left this morning for a trip, worried about the family she’s leaving behind. Another has sent her kids to safety further north. I breathed a sigh of relief to hear that a childhood friend in Haiti is safe. We don’t know what to expect here, but we know it is coming.

It’s been a week of storms. Our daughter tried out for a developmental soccer program, one for which she’s been intentionally preparing these last few months. No one’s got more grit than this girl to press toward what she wants, yet she didn’t make the cut.

A good friend is experiencing the effects of past wounds marring a current relationship. She did what she thought was wise to avoid a storm, but it has come anyway. Another finds herself blocked in her work by factors out of her control and her faith is being tested as never before. I read in my newsfeed about unexpected divorce, the tragedy of a miscarriage, a father leaving a family far too soon.

We spent a day of prayer yesterday as a ministry, and heard reports from around the world of people persecuted for their beliefs. We spoke of the Pulse shooting, of personal struggles to make ends meet, and of fears for safety as the world becomes an increasingly more dangerous place for many.

I consider the storm swirling around our country. We watch and wonder what direction it will turn with the turbulent presidential election looming on the horizon. It all feels so huge, so beyond our control.

The storms, they just keep coming. 

With every story, my heart sinks. How much can we bear? My arms are not wide enough to encompass these people I love, to shelter them from all the storms in the world. There is so much trouble. So much heartache. So much that threatens to take away life as we know it, as we want it to be. Some of it is our own making, but some of it is just life in a fallen world.

So we feel helpless. Frightened. Discouraged. Distraught. Disappointed. Angry. This isn’t the way it was supposed to be. We want life without storms. We want sunny days and blue skies and happiness. When we don’t have it, we are so tempted to doubt his goodness and purposes.

But he never promised us life without storms. Jesus said to his disciples just before he died, “I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.”

So herein lies our hope, friends. The storms are unavoidable. But we can take heart, because whatever comes, he has overcome the worst of it. Share on X

Now that doesn’t mean our trampoline isn’t going to end up in our trees. Or the relationship will be mended. The cancer will go away. The child will come home.

But it does mean that we do not respond as the world does. Yes, we feel fear and sadness. But then we hope. We hope because we know that we have life beyond all this. We hope because we know that no matter what this world takes from us, it cannot take away our peace, our joy, or our salvation.

It can’t take us away from Jesus.

So in the storm, may we be people who talk about where our hope is. Our hope is in the one who is greater than the storms. He commands them, quiets them, and walks with us through them. He is our lifeboat, our anchor, our refuge. And at the end of the day, even if the storm overwhelms us, we still have him.

As one of our staff said yesterday, “When we have nothing and we have Jesus, we have everything.” Let’s rest in this today.

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Embracing Suffering – Guest post at Thrive Connection

Embracing SufferingSuffering is inevitable. For the Christian it is essential.

Suffering in this world—great or small and in one form or another—is inevitable. It is not something like jury duty that you just have to hope will not happen to you. You will not avoid it if you simply “play your cards right” or just “walk in the Spirit.” Nor is it some detour to get through quickly so you can get back to the real work of ministry.

Suffering in the Christian life is essential. It is a tool for transforming us into the kind of people God designed us to be.

Read the rest of this post at Thrive Connection.

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I Am Not My Child’s Savior

I Am Not My Child's Savior

I am not my child’s savior.

This thought occurred to me yesterday as I walked around our neighborhood. Pondering the fact that our daughter’s team, playing in a tournament an hour away, was not doing well, left me unsettled.

First game was a bust. Second game they knocked two in the goal in the first ten minutes, but let their lead slip away into a tie game. Those two games meant advancing was impossible, regardless of the outcome of the final game. Our daughter walked away from the second game in tears.

Nothing is more important to her right now than this sport. All her future hopes are wrapped up in this. And while we both know that the hold on her heart is too strong, I remind myself it is not my job to make sure her dream doesn’t die. It’s not my job to make it all better. All my unsettledness was because I could. not. fix it.

Oh, but that’s what I want to do. Take away the pain. Erase the loss and disappointment. We all want that. We want wins, and good grades, and close friends, and safety. Eliminate everything that could hurt our kids.

So I set myself up in the position of savior in her heart.

Why We Try to Save

It’s heady stuff to have a person who thinks you can do anything. We slip into the superman complex because it makes us feel good about ourselves that we can be the rescuer, the savior, the protector.

Maybe if we just stay close enough, say the right words, step in at just the right moments, we can fend off disasters. We believe the lie that we can control their worlds.

It feels right. It feels like love, to protect others from pain. But then I look at God and His word and I remember that the path to maturity always involves suffering. It makes us like Him.

Ultimately, apart from putting way too much pressure on ourselves to be more to them than we can be, saving our kids takes away the opportunity for them to look to the real Savior, to learn to rely on Him and receive from Him what they need in times of struggle.

Why We Shouldn’t Save

Being away from my daughter this weekend was hard, but so good for her. She needs me to get out of the way so that she can learn to lean on the One who is always there, who knows the value of failure, loss, loneliness, and pain to mold a heart into His image, and whose wise hands guide her in ways I never could.

We do our people a disservice when we don’t encourage them to turn to Him in times of fear, hurt, discouragement. Our lives are meant to be lived in dependence on Him. Pain is a pathway to that dependence.

“It helps to resign as the controller of your fate. All that energy we expend to keep things running right is not what’s keeping things running right.” Anne Lamott, Bird by Bird

All that energy we spend trying to keep others’ lives running right is not what keeping things running right for them. In fact, it might just be what keeps them from Him.

So let’s resign as the controllers, the rescuers, the saviors of our children. Let’s trust the true Savior and teach our children to look to Him in times of trial.

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