I'm having another one of those dark days in France. Maybe it's the rain pouring down on the tiled roof. Sometimes I wonder why God rains sorrow on our already-pitiful parade. I feel sorry for poor Job, enduring all that downpour. In the past several months, I've wondered WHY. Why has church planting been so difficult? There have been more days than I can count when I've wanted to give up. And then I get upset, wondering, Is this just how it goes? Do we face heartache and stress upon stress for nothing? Why does God bring us through far more than we can bear?
Frankly, I'm tired of the platitudes. I'm tired of hearing that God doesn't bring more than we can handle. I don't think that's actually true. I think He deliberately brings us more than we can fathom or face. At times in that darkness, I've railed against Him. Yelled sometimes. Wondered. Cried. Got more angry than I can recount in words.
So today, with that lament as the backdrop, imagine my surprise when I read these words in Isaiah:
"The Lord will strike Egypt in a way that will bring healing. For the Egyptians will turn to the Lord, and He will listen to their pleas and heal them" (Isaiah 19:22, NLT).
Maybe I'm being struck for the sake of more healing. To be honest, I don't like it very much. Healing hurts. I pretty much hate it. And in the midst of it, I don't always run to Jesus. Often I blame. Or sulk. Or cower. Or stew. Or fume.
I feel as if I'm living Psalm 13:
How long, O Lord? Will You forget me forever?
How long will You hide your face from me?
How long shall I take counsel in my soul,
Having sorrow in my heart all the day?
How long will my enemy be exalted over me?
Consider and answer me, O Lord my God;
Enlighten my eyes, or I will sleep the sleep of death,
And my enemy will say, "I have overcome him,"
And my adversaries will rejoice when I am shaken.
But I have trusted in Your lovingkindness;
My heart shall rejoice in Your salvation.
I will sing to the Lord,
Because He has dealt bountifully with me.
Right now, I'm in the first part of that psalm, crawling around in the mud of it all. Slimy, gritty, tired. I'm not to the "But" yet. Even as I write this, I worry that folks will send me happy-clappy emails about lifting my head and "just trust and obey." I'd rather opt for empathy. Does anyone else feel this sometimes? Am I the only one who has struggled with the pelting of life?
I want to say the second part of the psalm, but the words feel sandy on my tongue. I want to sing, but all I can do is mutter. And yet, in the word "bountifully," I feel a tinge of hope. Isn't that the word God has given me this year? Bounty? Abundance? Will it really come? Or is that a sad mirage?
I don't like being broken. I don't like being stricken in a way that brings healing. I'd rather healing just come like the sunshine after rain. I guess that's the point, though, isn't it? The sunshine is all the sweeter after downpours. The sun seems happier in the elusive blue of a Seattle sky than the sameness of a San Diego expanse.
So it rains. In France and in my soul. I pray I'm climbing my way out of this two-year battle with church-planting in France. I hope so. I want to sing again.
Frankly, I'm tired of the platitudes. I'm tired of hearing that God doesn't bring more than we can handle. I don't think that's actually true. I think He deliberately brings us more than we can fathom or face. At times in that darkness, I've railed against Him. Yelled sometimes. Wondered. Cried. Got more angry than I can recount in words.
So today, with that lament as the backdrop, imagine my surprise when I read these words in Isaiah:
"The Lord will strike Egypt in a way that will bring healing. For the Egyptians will turn to the Lord, and He will listen to their pleas and heal them" (Isaiah 19:22, NLT).
Maybe I'm being struck for the sake of more healing. To be honest, I don't like it very much. Healing hurts. I pretty much hate it. And in the midst of it, I don't always run to Jesus. Often I blame. Or sulk. Or cower. Or stew. Or fume.
I feel as if I'm living Psalm 13:
How long, O Lord? Will You forget me forever?
How long will You hide your face from me?
How long shall I take counsel in my soul,
Having sorrow in my heart all the day?
How long will my enemy be exalted over me?
Consider and answer me, O Lord my God;
Enlighten my eyes, or I will sleep the sleep of death,
And my enemy will say, "I have overcome him,"
And my adversaries will rejoice when I am shaken.
But I have trusted in Your lovingkindness;
My heart shall rejoice in Your salvation.
I will sing to the Lord,
Because He has dealt bountifully with me.
Right now, I'm in the first part of that psalm, crawling around in the mud of it all. Slimy, gritty, tired. I'm not to the "But" yet. Even as I write this, I worry that folks will send me happy-clappy emails about lifting my head and "just trust and obey." I'd rather opt for empathy. Does anyone else feel this sometimes? Am I the only one who has struggled with the pelting of life?
I want to say the second part of the psalm, but the words feel sandy on my tongue. I want to sing, but all I can do is mutter. And yet, in the word "bountifully," I feel a tinge of hope. Isn't that the word God has given me this year? Bounty? Abundance? Will it really come? Or is that a sad mirage?
I don't like being broken. I don't like being stricken in a way that brings healing. I'd rather healing just come like the sunshine after rain. I guess that's the point, though, isn't it? The sunshine is all the sweeter after downpours. The sun seems happier in the elusive blue of a Seattle sky than the sameness of a San Diego expanse.
So it rains. In France and in my soul. I pray I'm climbing my way out of this two-year battle with church-planting in France. I hope so. I want to sing again.
15 Comments:
Yes, Mary, we are all at some point(s) in our life slogging through the mire. I too hate it when people won't admit they have doubts, they feel defeated, or they just hurt so bad they can't see God.
I was driven to such depths once that I questioned His existence. I ranted and raved at Him while I paced in my bedroom. Then suddenly I stopped and doubled over laughing. Here I was arguing with someone I didn't believe existed. He and I started over again from square one building a foundation of faith. This one is much stronger. It may shake now and then but it stands firm. Yours does too. I'm sure of it.
I have no platitudes. OK, I have some. But they rarely work for me, so why would I pass them off on you? I will pray for you today, Mary! And next week in Dallas, I will sit at a table with you and share something of His bountiful abundance. I feel honored to think about it.
Katy www.fallible.com
Mary,
Please, please, please hear this with the love I intend ~ and I have no little doubt you could be right and I could be really, really wrong!
"Why has church planting been so difficult? There have been more days than I can count when I've wanted to give up."
Mary, what if it isn't about you? I mean, what if it *is*, but it *isn't*? What if church planting is just hard? There will come a day when you go home. Or somewhere else. And those Believers will *stay*? I am only guessing, presuming really, but how hard is it to be a Believer in France these days? How hard to stand up and be counted as His?
Is there anything in your struggles that may be perfectly equipping you to minister to the few Believers there? I'm guessing there is... What are their specific struggles and heartaches? How could God be softening your heart more and more towards them and the cross they must bear? What might He be teaching you about the church, and church planting, and most importantly, His children and His lost sheep?
But I have empathy aplenty for you, too. Because, yes, I have been there more often than not, really. Sometimes I feel like (though I know it's not true) I live my life where you are, and the rain is pouring down on this gray day here in Virginia, too. Here in my comfy house in parts well known and not at all foreign to me... I can't even imagine how it would be an ocean apart from so many loved ones.
I will be praying the Lord would give you a taste of His bounty even this week.
In Christ alone,
Kari
www.HealedWaters.com
Blog Team,
http://www.christianwomenonline.net/blog.html
I just want to say that I may not be in the same situation you are in, but I am and have felt what you are feeling.
That's all.
Christa
"Jesus wept."
"Life is like an onion. You peel it off one layer at a time; and sometimes you weep."
Carl Sandberg
Annette Smith
www.annettesmithbooks.com
Mary,
I've doubted and fretted more days than I care to admit. Sometimes, I wish God had made me more optimistic, more simple (I have so many questions and see things through so many levels) and MANY days I wish He had given me a lighter load.
I am praying for you and hurting with you, my friend. I do know that your honesty and authenticity has been refreshing and has helped me feel less alone.
May God wrap His loving arms around You in creative ways....
Ah, life can be so tiring... so sorrowful sometimes...
Did you know that over half the Psalms are laments? That's from Michael Card, who also says, "Apart from lament, you and I are robbed of our true identity before God." (p22)
I just started reading his book A Sacred Sorrow: Reaching Out to God in the Lost Language of Lament. Maybe the time is ripe for such a book... there, in your wilderness.
God's children will never be dealt more than HE can handle.
I was just going to recommend Michael Card's book to you, but I see Jules beat me to it. I do think you would love it.
I'm praying for you, Mary.
And for what it's worth... I think the saying "God doesn't give you more than you can handle" is exactly wrong. Of course He gives us more than we can handle. Otherwise what would we need Him for?
Hey Mary,
You've got a lot of great friends there with some good thoughts. I'd like to check out that Michael Card book myself.
This may be far too personal for me to place in your comments section but I've always been known to be kind of just out there and naked so here it goes. I basically walk around in my daily life with a perpetual lump in my throat. If I'm not crying for joy, I'm wallowing in sorrow.
The truth is life is really hard. We're only human. We do the best we can with what we have and sometimes that isn't much and we don't do well. Other times we have too much and we don't know what to do with it! And then sometimes; once in a great, blue moon - during a moment of clear holiness - we do amazing things with practically nothing.
Just hold on; as I'm sure you will, and take solace in the words my mother used to whisper in my ear as she stroked my head, "This too shall pass."
Much love and prayers are with you and your family. Feel free to email me anytime.
-Jenn
mrs.jc.johnson@gmail.com
www.romans1018.blogspot.com
Mary,
You inspire me. To have pain and doubts and struggle for two years and STAY where you have been sent tells me a whole heck of a lot about your character and love for God.
Here's a platitude for you, my friend....This too Shall pass.
It really will.
Hugs
Tracey
Everyone,
Thank you thank you thank you for all your amazing and kind comments. Though it is raining today, my heart has shifted a bit. Not completely but enough to see some sun through the clouds.
Two years ago, I watched a friend of mine suffer heartbreak. The child that they had prayed for was born with a heart defect. He lived only three weeks, and endured 15 surgeries during that time. She was only able to hold him once, and even then he was covered in tubes and monitors.
About a year later, she was sharing about the experience. Someone said something about God never giving us more than we can handle, and her response was that God provided her with the strength she needed, but it was on a moment by moment basis. She couldn't think ahead even an hour, much less an entire day or week. So all this to say that God does sustain us, but we need to accept that sustenance on his terms, not ours.
One scripture I constantly turn to for encouragement is II Cor 12:9 - "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness." I am weak, but He is strong and I am giving Him ample room to demonstrate His strength.
Trish, that's my favorite scripture. Thanks for the reminder!
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