Encouragement

Love, Work, and Joy

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My mother had read somewhere and often repeated:

In order to be happy, you need something love, something to do, and something to look forward to.

I used to quip that eating fulfills all three. (A stance I still maintain to this day.)

Despite my flippant response, I always acknowledged the wisdom in the simple saying. As a kid, I never had any trouble filling all three. I loved my family and friends, my many pets, anything involving horses. I went to school and did homework and worked odd jobs and played outdoors by the hour. I looked forward to summer vacation and the county fair and a good book.

As I’ve gotten older, I have noticed how easy it is to let the cares of the world detract from each of these overflowing columns. I have no fewer things to jamb into each condition, and yet something seems to block my ability to fully embrace the whole. Perhaps you have experienced this too.

Sometimes love brings heartbreak.

Sometimes our to-dos bring drudgery.

Even the things we are looking forward to can seem like So. Much. Work. (How many times have I heard someone say that preparing for vacation takes so much effort it’s easier to simply not take one?)

Is it even worth it?

The Bible talks about embracing faith like a little child. That is not the only thing we need to embrace in this manner. I’m not sure why we so easily lose our childlike wonder and enthusiasm, but I know we do.

Something to love. Something to do. Something to look forward to.

Even the beautiful simplicity of this principle can feel like one more thing to do rather than the promise of fulfillment. But I remember the young and eager enthusiasm. I see no reason why we can’t get it back.

My still favorite-for-now book of the Bible talks a lot about toil and gladness. It recognizes that the two are often connected, and that enjoyment is a gift from God. At least five times a similar sentiment is repeated: There is nothing better for man than to eat and drink and provide himself with good things by his labors. Even this, I realized, is from the hand of God. (Ecclesiastes 2:24)

We need to not be afraid of work. Thorugh work is often found the reward of satisfaction and the production of goods that are profitable for life. At the same time, we need to recognize God as the inherent provider of both the work itself and the work’s outcome. Joy is a gift from God we can ask for. It is a fruit of the Spirit who dwells within us. It is cultivated when we recognize with thanksgiving the love, work, and hope God has granted to each of us.

Practical Application: Work and Joy

It would be easy to over-spiritualize this. After all, we are instructed to love the Lord our God with all our heart, soul, mind and strength and our neighbor as yourself [Something to love.] We are told that we are God’s handiwork, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do (Ephesians 2:10) [Something to do.] And we are encouraged and to look forward to the promise of a new heaven and new earth where righteousness dwells (2 Peter 3:13) [Something to look forward to].

Those are all true. But my point here today is more practical.

Who can you show love to today? Who did you receive love from recently that you may have overlooked?

What work can your hand find to do that you can do with all your might (Ecclesiastes 9:10), embracing a childlike faith that it matters even if you can’t see how?

What small pleasure can you look forward to, even if it seems like work to get there?

Acknowledge love. Work hard. Cultivate joy.

Rejoice always, pray continually, give thanks in all circumstances; for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus (1 Thessalonians 5:16).

This post was first shared at inspireafire.com. Seek a joyful day today!

I Thought it Was an Avocado: Lessons on the Fullness of Life.

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Avocados fullness of life

Several years ago, I met up with a childhood friend I hadn’t seen in years. She was in the mood for sushi; I am up for anything I don’t have to cook myself. In short order, I found myself faced with a sampling of dainty and colorful circles known as sushi rolls.

Despite the fact that I apparently dream about sushi when coming off of pain meds, I have had very limited exposure to it. This is okay; it was probably best if I didn’t know exactly what I was eating.

I could identify the rice, and some shavings of carrot. There was something cucumber-like, and a small mound of pureed avocado.

I love avocado.

It is perhaps an odd food to love – a smushy green vegetable with a taste my mother describes as creamy lettuce – but I became obsessed during my running days. As I dreamed up elaborate food fantasies to keep my leg muscles churning, my go-to was always corn chips and smashed avocado with a side of chocolate milk. Yum.

Imagine my delight then when I saw this unexpected favorite on the plate before me. I decided right then and there that I was going to like this sushi thing.

I scooped up a forkful and popped it in my mouth.

Unexpected Fire

My friend stopped mid-sentence, and I watched as her eyes bulged to mirror the horror in my own. Something was terribly, terribly wrong.

Burning erupted like an electric shock through my lips, mouth, and throat. Milliseconds later my friend completely disappeared beneath the torrent of tears that surged from my eyes like a firehose.

“Did you just eat a forkful of that?” she cried.

“What is it?” I gasped.

“Wasabi!”

Let me pause for a moment in case you, like me, have never heard of wasabi. True wasabi is a plant grown in Japan, tricky to cultivate and therefore very expensive. The wasabi we are most likely to encounter outside of Japan is imitation wasabi made from pureed horseradish and dyed green to look like the original. The texture appears deceptively creamy, but since it ignites upon contact with any part of your face, texture quickly becomes a moot point. When applied delicately to a sushi roll, wasabi balances and accentuates the pungency of fish. By the forkful, it tastes like fire.

Two pitchers of water later I was still crying silently into a stack of paper napkins.

“I can’t believe you did that,” she said for the umpteenth time.

“I thought it was avocado!”

Apparently, I was the only one who found it perfectly reasonable to expect a small mound of pureed avocado next to a sushi roll.

I won’t make that mistake again.

But I bet I will make others.

Fullness of Life Includes Painful Lessons

Life is full of painful lessons. Some are flash-in-the-pan, two-pitchers-of-water-and-now-it’s-a-funny-story kind of painful. Some are out-of-the-pan-and-into-the-fire, things-keep-getting-worse-instead-of-better kind of painful.

Both kinds prompt us to keep moving forward, which is the only direction worth moving.

I’ve been thinking of this quote lately from the poem “Benedicto” in Earth Apples: The Poetry of Edward Abbey:

May your trails be crooked, winding, lonesome, dangerous, leading to the most amazing view. May your mountains rise into and above the clouds.

It’s not the typical prose of a blessing. No wind at your back, no sun shining warm on your face, no soft rain falling upon lush Irish fields.

And yet.

Something in the grit of the words hooks me. Like flames on the tongue. The discomfort is not there only to endure. The discomfort is there because in the right way and the right amount it adds rather than detracts.

Sometimes you have to be uncomfortable in order to experience the fullness of life.

Even the most sugar-loving among us would get bored of eating nothing but sugar. And maybe wasabi isn’t so good by the forkful, but when blended in the right proportions, it gives a beautiful spice to an array of dishes.

More Than a View

This is what I’m trying to say:

The fullest life is not the one where personal comfort is prioritized above all else. Like a muscle being stretched, sometimes we need to be stretched. We need be uncomfortable, awkward, unsure. We need to go when we’d rather stay. We need to try when we’d rather give up. We need to fail, and cry into a stack of napkins, and take in the view.

It’s not just one amazing view at the end that matters. Because in the end, it’s not about the view at all.

It’s about who we have become along the way.

Get out there and try life, my friends. And if it’s creamy and green, try just a little to begin.

This post was first shared at inspireafire.com. I hope it spiced up your day! 🙂

Easter Vigil When You Don’t Feel Like Celebrating

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Red Moon. Easter Vigil.

“It’s a celebration!”

“For some,” I wanted to say. But I didn’t want to be seen as a downer or as though I didn’t appreciate the significance of this special day. I merely tried to smile, and nodded, and walked on.

If you’re someone who also struggled to reflect the joy of Easter this year, then this post is for you. And if you’re someone who can’t understand how anyone could not reflect the joy of Easter, then pull up a chair. This post is for you, too.

It’s Complicated (Easter when you don’t feel like celebrating)

Easter Eggs. When you don't feel like celebrating

Easter for me is a complicated holiday. Its themes of death and resurrection, new beginnings and old traditions are deeply personal to me. They strike me in such a contradictory fashion that I am not sure if the correct response is to burst into song or tears. Sometimes I do both simultaneously.

At first, I felt guilt for this seemingly unchristian-like response. How could anyone be sad at the most triumphant celebration of our faith? But the more I pondered this, the more I came to see “complicated” may be the exact right interpretation.

It’s tradition now to greet one another with an exuberant “He is risen! He is risen indeed!” But that is not the cry that rang through Jerusalem that first Easter morning. At least not at first.

First, Jesus’ closest friends were hiding in a locked room, fearing for their lives. Women who had befriended, cared for, and supported Jesus carried burial spices to the tomb. When they discovered it empty, they did not shout for joy. They wept all the more bitterly for this even deeper loss. They pled in anger and frustration, “Where have they taken him?”

When Mary told the disciples and two of them ran to the tomb, they did not shout in triumph. They looked at the empty space where Jesus’ body had laid, and they went away quietly.

Confused. Waiting.

What We Know Now

We have the advantage of history. We know on Easter morning what the disciples did not. We know their heartbreak, confusion, and fear for the future are going to turn to joy… but not right away. First, there were a lot of complicated feelings that were the opposite of joy.

Butterfly in Hands. Easter when you don't feel like celebrating
(Photo by J. Canino)

We like to skip over that part. We want to say: Let’s run back from Emmaus and proclaim the good news! Instead, we must travel the road slowly. Before we know where it is going.

Like the disciples, we may experience the sadness of death even in the face of a resurrection. We may despair through deep loss even in the promise of redemption. We may keep the Easter Vigil like them, sitting through a long dark night of waiting.

These things are part of Easter, too.

We like to package up all the dark parts and sequester them to Good Friday. Darkness for three hours (and three days). Then, pre-dawn resurrection. Easter Joy!

We can shout triumphant today, but that doesn’t make the actual unfolding of the story any less complicated.

Easter Journeying

Lantern in dark - Easter when you don't feel like celebrating

If you’re like me, you may prefer a less authentic Easter. Let’s get back to the joyful part, shall we? My point in this reflection is simply this: Easter is a celebration, but it is not only a celebration. It’s a journey. It’s a transformation. It’s a movement from sadness to wonder to joy. It takes time.

For those churches who follow the liturgical calendar, the Sunday after Easter often commemorates Doubting Thomas. Right on the heels of Easter comes the doubt. I find this so indicative of our human journeying. Just when we make it through the vigil, just when there is an opportunity for hope, then doubt creeps in and snatches it all away. Yet even there the journey does not end. In what is still to me the most convincing evidence of the resurrection, we see the friends of Jesus transform from heartbroken hidden figures into the founders of our faith. Doubting Thomas himself is credited with the first explicit pronouncement of Jesus’ deity when he cried, “My Lord and My God” upon seeing the resurrected Jesus. Tradition tells us Thomas carried his Easter story to India and founded churches there.

My point, again, is this my friends: Easter is so much more than a celebration. It is a heart broken and remade, a life taken and resurrected, a loss cherished and grieved. Easter is a journey we take one step at a time.

Don’t minimize your experience by trying to only feel joy. It’s okay to feel it all.

This post was first shared at inspireafire.com. Peace to all of you who also had a “complicated” Easter Vigil.

So You Think You’re Tough?

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I like to think I’m tough. Here’s how I know I’m not.

The other day I was re-reading Laura Ingalls Wilder’s Farmer Boy. I love reading about these hardy pioneers. I mostly love to read about them while sipping tea in my fuzzy slippers.

Now these folks were tough. Back then, it got so cold that when they went out on the horse-drawn sleigh, they would have to pause and hold a mittened hand to the horse’s muzzle. This defrosted the ice buildup and allowed them to breathe.

This gives me pause every time I get that tingly sensation in my nostrils on a really cold day. (Think for a moment about what you consider to be a really cold day. We’ll come back to that in a moment.)

In the middle of winter, they prepare the icehouse for next summer. They go to the lake and cut, with a handsaw, 20”x20”x20” blocks of ice. Then they carry each block with big metal tongs, load the sleigh, unload the sleigh, stack them in the icehouse, and tamp them down with sawdust. Which all sounds like a hard day’s work until I googled, just out of curiosity, how much a 20” cube of ice weighs.

Here’s what I found.

According to this ice weight calculator (Google has everything), a 20”x20”x20” block of ice, or 8000 cubic inches, would weigh just shy of… 265 lbs. Two-hundred-sixty-five pounds*! Slung with a pair of metal tongs and stacked to the roof of the icehouse.

That goes from a hard day’s work to an impossibility. I think I’m doing good when I can sling a 30lb bag of dog food.

I take another sip of tea.

Tough Temperatures

Then I read how when it gets below -40°F (minus forty! How does that compare to your “really cold day?”) the father goes out in the middle of the night to run the calves around the barnyard. This exercise warms them up. Otherwise, they could freeze to death in their sleep.

I would like to point out that this gives a whole new perspective to the idea of running in circles. Running in circles can, in fact, save your life. I’m going to use this to console myself the next time I feel like I’m stuck on life’s dark treadmill.

I would like to additionally point out that we also have a Father who sometimes makes us get up and run around the barnyard. He goads us out of complacency but within the confines of his will and it feels, if I’m being honest, quite mean.

It is probably saving our life.

Sometimes we’d rather just curl up in the straw and take a nap. Sometimes we’re waiting for the gate to be flung open so we can finally charge down the road to the future. Instead, we’re stuck in between. Not able to rest, and not able to get anywhere either. Running in circles.

Could we choose to ignore the prodding and stay right where we are? Of course.

Could we sneak through the fence and charge into greener pastures? Of course.

Is it going to go well with us if we do? Probably not.

Tough Lessons in the Barnyard

God gives us lessons in the barnyard. I don’t know what they all are, and quite honestly, I wish I’d learn them sooner. But, I do know that God says we are to take His yoke upon us and learn from Him. And we better do that in the barnyard before we go charging down the road. Otherwise, we’re likely to end up in a tangled heap in the ditch, as young Almanzo’s calves did when he let them through the gate too soon.

Is there something you are grasping for that always seems just out of reach? Maybe it’s time to pause and listen. Take another walk around the barnyard.

Are you just… so… tired, you aren’t sure you can put one foot in front of the other? Don’t give up. Spring is coming. Take another walk around the barnyard.

There are lessons we can learn from these hardy pioneers. About toughness. About perseverance. About patience.

About gratitude for things like fuzzy slippers.

I think I’ll go microwave some tea.

*Because I didn’t believe this number, I kept googling, and every calculation I ran came back to this number. If anyone has a different calculation, let me know!

This post was first written and shared at inspireafire.com. Enjoy some fuzzy slipper time this Valentine’s Day!

Hidden Thankfulness

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Just because you can’t see it, doesn’t mean it isn’t there.

I’d like to thank all the people I never thanked.

This could be a sweeping generality: family, friends, first responders, the lady cleaning the bathroom at the gas station where I stopped for gas.

But, I have something more specific in mind.

I’m thinking of my fellow student Tom, who drove me to and from work for two weeks when my ’94 Chevy Blazer bit the dust. And I’m thinking of Eric, who drove me to the car dealership, because how does one buy a new car when they have no way to get there?

I always meant to make them cookies. Give them a card. Something – anything – to say thank you.

I never did.

It wasn’t because I wasn’t grateful, because I was. They saved me at a time when I had limited directions to turn.

It wasn’t because I didn’t have time. I mean, you can only walk around the block so many times. How hard would it have been to make a plate of cookies?

Why didn’t I?

More Hidden Thanks

I’d also like to thank Tiffany, who invited me that same year to Easter dinner.

“I’ll meet you at Carterville and then you can follow me,” she said.

“Great!” I said, making a note to look that up on a map. “Where in Carterville? Like, what address or landmark or whatever?”

She looked at me like I’d just asked her to define the exact confections of a jelly bean.

“Like Carterville,” she said again. “There’s a stop sign. I’ll meet you there.”

Oh. Right.

Just Because We Don’t Get Thanks…

I’m pretty sure I told Tiffany thank you, but there is no way she knew how much her invitation meant to me. I think of her from time to time and wonder what she’s up to. I’m not sure I can even conjure her last name, but I remember so powerfully how much I appreciated our interactions. I was a thousand miles from home and everything I knew, but I was less alone than I realized.

The more I ponder the reasons why I never thanked these people in the moment, or why I never reciprocated their kindness, the more compassion I have for others who likewise do not reciprocate to me. For whatever reason, I did not have the capacity at that time. And for whatever reason, there are others who do not have the capacity now. Just because we do not get a thank you does not mean it wasn’t appreciated. Just because our outreach is not reciprocated does not mean it didn’t have impact.

I’m here to say it mattered.

A Network of Thankfulness

Jesus told his followers that whatever we do to our brothers and sisters we do to Him. Paul admonished that we should work at everything as though we are working unto the Lord. And here’s the thing I’ve realized: we’re all connected.

We may do something for someone and have it reciprocated, but usually the web is more complicated than that. It’s far more likely that we do something for someone, and someone different does something for us, and we may not do something for them, but someone else will. Complicated and beautiful, right?

There is a vast network of exchanges happening, and at the core, we are doing everything unto Jesus, and Jesus is doing everything unto us. Every good and perfect gift comes from above. Not from a friend, a coworker, or a stranger. The gift may come through them, but it comes from God.

Maybe someday in this life or the one after I will get to say thank you to Tom, and Eric, and Tiffany. In the meantime, I pray that someone is being a blessing to them. And I pray that whoever I can bless carries that blessing on to someone else.

We are like surges through a global neural network, transmitting the signal that comes from above. All throughout God’s kingdom there are flashes of blessings, fires of thanksgiving. I’m thankful to both give and receive.

Who do you wish you could say thank you to?

This post was first written and shared at inspireafire.com. Happy Month of Thanksgiving!

How I Started Recycling: An analogy of our Father’s method for change

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I recycle because I have a friend who recycles.

I mean, I have a friend who recycles.  She carries a bag with her when she goes on walks simply so she can pick up trash.  When she comes to visit, she brings me all the recyclables she can’t recycle in her own town, because my town has a broader recycling program.  “Maybe I’ll inspire someone else,” she says.  And by someone, she occasionally means me.

Any activist will tell you that the hardest thing to initiate is a change in someone’s behavior. This was certainly true for me.  I agreed 100% with everything my friend told me.  “Be the change you want to see in the world,” she’d quote.  “Absolutely!”  I’d agree.

But my behavior didn’t change.

Plastic bag in hand.

Now I should clarify.  I would occasionally pick up trash and pack it out of my favorite hiking haunts.  Or I might pick up something blown from a dumpster and return it.  I would recycle when it was convenient, but when it took a little more effort… not so much.

This same friend sent me an article about the impacts of plastics in our oceans.  It made me sad at what we are doing to our planet. It made me feel guilty over my part in it. But it still didn’t drive me to action.

So what was it that actually changed my behavior?  First, my friend’s persistence.  But more importantly, she didn’t drive me to it.  She led me to it.

Too often when we are trying to change someone’s behavior – or even when we are trying to change our own – we try to drive the change like a cowboy driving a herd of cattle.  We crack the whip of reason. We coerce. We plead.  But instead of a stampede toward the corral, the result is usually more like a baulking bull.  Even when we want to change, we find ourselves pushing back rather than embracing a new behavior.

The Bible gives us a different analogy of change.

Jesus didn’t ride herd with a whip.  He simply entered the pen through the gate.  “I am the good Shepherd,” Jesus told his followers. “The one who enters by the gate is the shepherd of the sheep… He calls his own sheep by name and leads them out” (John 10:2-3,14).

Jesus wasn’t driving the change; Jesus was leading the change.  And this is precisely what my friend did to change my recycling habits.  One time when she was visiting, she threw me and her recycling in the car and drove to the recycling center.  She never said: “I’m going to show you how to recycle so that you will start doing it.”  We simply went and recycled together.  And after I had done it once, there was no reason for me not to continue.

Sometimes in life, change is elicited simply because we have someone come alongside us and show us how. We have a Father in heaven who first demonstrated this principle for us, by sending Jesus to not just instruct us from afar, but to walk alongside us. Now we can do the same for others.

I wonder how many of us can say, “I am a Christian because I have a friend who is a Christian.”  And more importantly, how many of us have friends who can say about us, “I am a Christian, because I have a friend who is a Christian.”

A slightly different version of this post was shared in 2012 – can you believe I have been blogging that long? It was revamped to share recently at inspireafire.com. I hope you enjoyed it!

An Act in Due Season

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Black lab puppy in leaves
Black lab puppy running

I’d like to introduce you to Izzie.

Yes, that fuzzy little black canine amongst all the leaves is Izzie. And so is this cute little blur. This is back in the day when your typical point and shoot camera had a hard time keeping up with something as rambunctious as a black lab puppy.

 But before you start thinking this is just another cute puppy story, let me stop you right there.

You see, Izzie was born in a special kennel outside New York City for a very special purpose. When I was a senior in high school he came to live with me. And then he left for something even greater.

I had always wanted a dog, but my parents did not. They let me run wild with smaller critters –  five breeds of rabbits and two breeds of ducks filled my expanding hobby yard – but they firmly declined my plea for a dog.

Until I hatched the perfect plan.

My answers were standard: He’s not actually my dog; I’m just caring for him right now. There is someone out there who needs him even more than me. Of course it will break my heart, but it’s for such a good cause.

I would raise a puppy for a year. When I left for college, the puppy would also leave for school. To become a guide dog for the blind. It was a service project with an outcome they couldn’t refuse.

Over my year of puppy raising, I heard variations of the same question: How could I possibly give up a puppy after loving it for a year?

Today, I know the answer is a little deeper. Today, I feel exactly how those people with the wide-eyed wonder looked. I couldn’t be a puppy raiser now. But then, I was given the grace to do the right thing at the right time.

This makes me even gladder that I did it when I could.

Izzie and trainer with his “in for training” class.

Proverbs 15:23 tells us that a word in due season is a good thing. I think the same is true for actions. There is a season for every activity under heaven. A time to raise puppies, and a time to do something else. (See Ecclesiastes 3)

During this valentine’s season when so much attention is placed on the emotion of love, let me suggest we place some attention on the practicality of love. There is something we can do right now, in this season, that we may not be in a position to do again.

Let’s do it.

Whatever our hand finds to do right now, we should do it with all our might. Chances are it won’t seem like a big thing. It will simply be something that we can do, wherever we are, with what we have. It may even be something we always wanted that ends up being a unique gift to someone else… and to us.

Izzie’s graduation photo.

That was certainly the case with Izzie. A year after we both left for separate schooling, Izzie went on to serve as a faithful guide alongside his partner in Tennessee. His graduation picture remains one of my most prized possessions.

It was an opportunity I could have missed. That realization encourages me to look around me now. In a different time and a different place, there is something here for me to do.

Take an action in due season.

Leadership Lessons in a Blade of Grass

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I once gave a speech likening our personal development to grass. I am reminded of this speech today as I try to enjoy a late afternoon nap. You’ll understand the connection in a moment.

I was a senior in college and president of a student organization that was welcoming its next class of inductees. The room was filled with students and friends, faculty and administrators. Even the college president and his wife.

It was a big deal.

I talked about growth, about perseverance over time, about coming back when our dreams have been mowed down. The speech was inspired by the cantankerous lawn mowers that always revved outside my dorm window the moment I tried to sneak in a late afternoon nap. It never failed that right then is when they decided the grass needed trimming.

My fellow students could relate.

“But no matter how often life cuts you down, you must continue to grow,” I exhorted.

The audience laughed at the right moments and listened at the serious points. I was in my element. When it was over, the president stopped by and shook my hand.

“That was one of the best student speeches I’ve heard,” he said.

Now let me put this in its proper context. It was a small college. The type of place where the president might pass you on the sidewalk on the way to class and say hello. Even if he didn’t quite know your name, he’d certainly know your face. He had no doubt paid similar compliments to dozens of student leaders. I hadn’t done anything extra special, and he hadn’t said anything extraordinary. But 20 years later, I still remember the compliment.

The memory returned to me this afternoon when a lawn mower jamboree broke out in my neighborhood the moment I tried to sneak a little nap. (It still never fails.) The longer I laid there counting grass blades and trying to sleep, the stronger the lesson became. That moment, out of all the moments, was significant enough for me to recall it so many years later.

The price of leadership is often high: High stress, high pressure, high stakes. But some of the longest lasting impacts of leadership happen in between all the important stuff.

You take time out of your schedule to attend an inconsequential event. You look someone in the eye. You shake their hand. You tell them, “That was a fine job.”

And 20 years later, that still means something. Those words are still pouring fertilizer on a blade of grass that has been mowed down and mowed down and mowed down – but is still continuing to grow.

How many contracts expire within a few years? How many business dealings degrade within a decade? Do you even recall what was discussed at last Tuesday’s meeting?

There is an opportunity in between all of that to have a real impact.

Every one of us can take time out of our schedule to attend to an inconsequential moment. We can look someone in the eye. We can shake their hand. We can tell them, “That was a fine job.”

We may never know what those words mean. But all around us, lives could be growing. Not because of some big, sweeping contribution we made. No, quite the opposite.

We simply need to implement the leadership lessons contained in a blade of grass.

This post originally was shared at inspireafire.com. I hope you enjoyed it!

To My Future Former Self

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This post was first shared at https://inspireafire.com/to-my-future-former-self/.

sunset road

RE: My Advice

Date: January 2020

I know you cringe when you’re told too flippantly to keep your chin up and everything will be fine.  I know what you’re thinking: “You have no idea how this will actually end for me.”

Oh, we know that all things work together for good for those who love God. And we know that in the end God wins and we get to celebrate with Him in heaven. But that’s not what you mean. You mean, it’s easy once the struggle is over to tell someone else that their problem will work out.

You want to hear from someone in the trenches. Someone with mud and tears still on their face. You want to hear them say it’s going to be okay. You want someone whose heart is currently breaking to look you in the eye and say, I hear you. I understand. This path is hard. I don’t know where it leads either. Nevertheless, you are going to make it through.

Lantern

That’s what you want to hear.

So here I am. I am the future of your former self, so I know what you’ve been through and how you got here. I know the path right now is hard, and I don’t know where it leads. But here is what I have to say.

It’s hard when you’re in the middle to even know the next step. For every voice in your head that shouts at you to dig in and hold on there is an equally compelling voice that says it’s time to let go. You’re not even sure what those things mean. You just know they are tearing you up inside so that sometimes all you can do is fall to your knees and physically scream.

That’s okay for a time. But here’s an image I want you to see:

Hand holding box

Imagine putting it all in a box. All of it. Leave the top open so you can still look inside. You can still watch and see what’s going to happen.

Now hand the box to God. And grip God’s hand.

You’re still holding onto it. You’re still fighting for it with everything you’ve got. But God’s hand is between you, and it.

That’s how you hold on and let go at the same time.

Do you remember when God asked Ezekiel down in that terrible valley, “Can these bones live?” My answer is the same as his: “Lord God, only you know.”

Only God knows your path and the life it leads to, but there are amazing things that you are going to witness. Miracles that bring life to your dry bones.

Someday you will set down all this confusion you’re carrying around. Not because you get answers to your questions, but because you will reach a point where your questions no longer matter. Like those bones clattering one atop the other, your despair will turn to hope and your confusion to purpose. When it happens, it will be God’s doing, but the path to get you there is yours to walk. Not because you must change paths in order for God to work, but because the path is changing you.

Love Never Fails sign

You will be loved deeply. It may be another person who comes alongside you. It may be a revelation of God’s love that becomes more real and palpable to you than anything you’ve ever experienced. Either way, that need for love and belonging that burns so fiercely in your heart – and every human heart – will be filled to overflowing. In turn, you will reach out with the love of God to others in ways that were never possible before.

You will experience what it means to fill yourself with God. It may come directly from His Spirit like Ezekiel in the desert or the disciples in the upper room. It may come from His Word, from scripture-based teachings and books, from His Creation, from unexpected places. Ask Him and ask Him and ask Him, because he promises “I will be found by you.”

Remember, God is holding your box now. When it all becomes too much, stop and remember that. Then keep pushing forward. Make mistakes. Try again. Fall down. Get back up. Hold onto God’s hand with everything you have – not to keep God from slipping away, but to keep your hands off things they shouldn’t be on.

And He will work. And you will make it through.