Month: April 2020

Today is a day we remember death of the One who bore our sin and shame. He was humiliated and mutilated for us. May we never ever forget how profound this is.

I was sitting in a parking lot today, having one of my many frequent melt downs (healing is raw business). I was mourning death. The reality that everything dies hit me square between the eyes. To hope in anything in this sphere is the most pointless effort we can make, because it will die. Our family will die. Our friends will die. Our lovers will die. Our children will die. Our systems will die. Our traditions will die. Our pleasures will die. We, ourselves, will die. That sounds so obscene and gruesome, doesn’t it? But you know that’s not the end. In the wake of this reality, we recall a truth that many of us claim to know and many more have never heard or believed — that Jesus died too… but he came back.

He came back to us in order to stand in his rightful place as the ONLY true and living hope of the world. Because He came back, nothing else we hope in can level up to His matchless grace, love, mercy, and power. As everything falls to rack and ruin around us, He remains. The Psalmist (102) said it best: “Of old you laid the foundation of the earth and the heavens are the work of your hands. They will perish, but You will remain.”

Our bodies are wasting away; this season is a reminder of our inevitable end. But He will remain, seated at the right hand of the Father. He is interceding for us, giving us his Spirit of comfort and joy, and waiting to come back to us again.

If hopelessness has become your companion in these dark days, remember the One who defeated death. He is our Living Hope. He defeated not only his death, but yours and mine, and in a little while, we will be with Him again.

Here is what I don’t want to do as I share this with you. I don’t want to market my pain. I don’t want to sell my struggle. I don’t want to make anxiety look sexy or make myself look heroic for be “vulnerable”. That’s all garbage and worthless. I want the truth to be spoken — and the truth is that I am weak, fragile, helpless and completely out of control, and you are too. Because of that reality, we desperately need Jesus.

A few days ago, I laid in bed, tossing and turning, feeling my chest tightening, my breath narrowing, and my head completely losing a grip on what it thought it could control. My heart has been pounding 24/7 and breathing has been hard ever since. This, as many of you understand, is the ugly face of anxiety. Where did it come from? I don’t know. Perhaps my subconscious suddenly realized that my outside world can’t be controlled, and neither can my internal one.

Today my four walls were choking me so badly and I felt like I was going to explode. So I grabbed a bag and ran outside. I paced back and forth and unleashed a hell storm of tears and pathetic, illogical sobs, begging God to help me understand what was happening to me.

I felt prompted to speak out loud everything that had happened to me since January. It was a lot. Travel bans. Foreign countries. Homelessness. Tense airports. Grief galore. Isolation. Six feet apart. As I spoke it out, I realized that all of it was wild and unnatural and hard, and I had been minimizing it. I had convinced myself and others that it was okay. And the Father, in His gentle and compassionate way with me, told me three things:

Minimizing your circumstances is not selfless. Minimizing your pain is not strength. Minimizing is a way to convince yourself that you don’t need me.

My God.

When we minimize what is happening around us and in us, these are the lies we believe: “There are worse things…” “My pain is nothing compared to…” “In the grand scheme of things this is small…” “This isn’t that big a deal when you look at…” We start to compare. We start to think that we are selfless when we don’t share what’s truly happening inside of us with someone else who’s problems seem bigger (side note – stop that. Share your pain with trusted others. It’s good for you and them. *steps off soap box*).

But worst of all, minimizing our pain or circumstances communicates this to the Father:

“I don’t need you. I can manage this.”

Oh friends, but we can’t manage this. As is the reality of life, nearly everything is outside our control (especially now). And the fact is, you telling Him “I’m fine, it’s fine” just isn’t convincing. He knows you aren’t fine, and He knows that it’s only a matter of time before you realize that the world you so often believe you can control will crumble — the world inside of you that you protect and hide will be exposed for the frightened thing that it is, and you will be undone.

So what have we but Him? What else can we do but call out to Him for strength that we so desperately try to build up on our own? What else can we do but hit the ground and cry out for comfort when it all becomes too much? What else can we do but yield to the One who knows exactly what we need and loves us beyond what we can think or imagine?

I wrote down a prayer I prayed a few days ago in the midst of that heavy anxiety (of course, it included a lot more blubbering and incoherent babble, but I decided not to include that in the text below). Take it for what it’s worth, I really don’t know much. But it’s been a reminder to me that my goal is not to feel better or “get a grip”– it’s to trust Him and remember that He is sovereign, mighty, and good. If you feel the same as I do, you are welcome to pray this too.

Jesus,

I don’t feel you near right now. I feel scared, helpless, confused, doubtful, and anxious. My heart is beating too fast, my breath is tightening, and my head is spinning. But I choose to trust you now. I know that you are with me, because you promised me the Holy Spirit. I know that you are stronger than me, because your power is made perfect in my weakness. I know that you love me because you said that if we believe in you that the Father would love us as He loves you. I know that this present moment will fade away and I’ll be with you in eternity because you died and came back to fulfill that promise. No matter what the future holds, you are in it. Help me to trust you right now, my refuge and fortress, my God in whom I trust.