Yesterday, I went on a walk around my neighborhood because I simply HAD to get out of the house. There were
too many things going on in my head, I was frustrated, I had a headache, we've been staying at home in quarantine for 3 1/2 weeks, and I
was getting super grumpy – I knew if I didn’t get out of the house, I would
start to take it out on people who didn’t deserve my wrathful impatience at
all.
As I started walking, I could feel, actually almost hear, my
heart thumping. Not because of my exercise,
but because of my flaring emotions. It
was an angry beat that I needed to calm down and I knew it. I popped in my earbuds and turned on some
music because I knew that I needed some Jesus.
Specifically, I needed a reminder that this was Holy Week.
Andrew Peterson’s song, “The Sower’s Song”, came on. An artist I love, but for some reason I had
never listened to this song before. And
I started thinking about Easter. And my
kids. And sadness. And joy. And parenting. And failure.
And redemption. My 7-year old
asked me today, “Mommy, how can God bring something good out of the
coronavirus? How can He work it for
good?” I had heard a million questions
about penguins and schedules and screen time and homework and outclasses and missing
friends and breakfast, and my brain was tired.
But out of my grumpy fog, the Lord told me to stop and listen. Not just hear. “LISTEN to her, Michelle. Can you explain to her how I can make good things
come out of terrible?” How can my God
bring a harvest out of hurt?
I walked around the corner and saw one of my friends, a single
woman in her 70s, power-washing her neighbor’s driveway. She looked tired. She told me she had come outside because she
figured she could stay inside and be depressed, or she could come outside and
do something that was helpful for someone else.
Normally, she keeps her emotions to herself, but lately, she has opened
up more. “Why aren’t we allowed to feel
things and tell people how we feel, Michelle?
Why do we always have to acknowledge that someone has it worse than we
do? Can we acknowledge that but also
still be able to share when we are hurting or having a hard time and not have
someone get onto us because it could be so much worse?” We talked for awhile – about how tired she
was of being by herself and how she missed her Sunday School class, about how I
just had to take a walk or I might explode on someone. Then, we said our goodbyes and I kept walking
and listening to music and she went back to power-washing.
I walked down a street that I hadn’t walked down in
years. Neighbors that I didn’t know
drove by. I waved. They waved.
I caught a whiff of gardenia, a pleasant aroma that took me back to my
childhood for a moment – my mother’s favorite scent. I felt my heart angry beating, but not as
hard as it was before. I saw a bright aqua
door – unexpected and bright and cheery.
I thought of my dear friend and her hurt and depression and willingness
to speak of it. I thought of another
acquaintance who had recently been diagnosed with the coronavirus – he and his
wife and his daughter - and how it doesn’t look like he will make it and my
heart breaks just thinking about it.
Then my thoughts moved to my sweet friends who just had a baby boy
prematurely, but he is growing and progressing in NICU. And another dear family who just received a
baby girl by adoption after waiting for her for 3 years. And how much joy those situations brought to
my heart.
It’s such a confusing season. Fear and hope. Foulness and fragrance. Dullness and color. Anger and love. Depression and joy. Ashes and beauty. We are so often taught that one feeling at a
time is normal. One feeling at a time is
manageable. What happens when we have
all of the feelings at once? How does God
work through both? How CAN he bring a
harvest out of hurt? How do I abide in
Him and let these branches bear fruit when I feel pain and anger and loss and
promise and hope? How many emotions can humanity
go through in such a short time?
Easter Week was like this, the first one. Think about Jesus’
disciples. They saw the crowds cheer for
Jesus as He rode into Jerusalem. They watched him anger the city leaders when he threw people out of the temple. They witnessed him standing up to the leaders’
hypocrisy. They were confused as he talked about the days to come. They balked as He
washed their feet. They saw one of their
own betray Him. They defended Him. They ran.
They denied Him. They saw Him crucified
by the same people who had just cheered for Him. They saw Him die. All within the space of one week.
And then they witnessed a risen Savior. RISEN FROM THE DEAD.
I can’t even fathom the depth of each of those feelings. The excitement. The pride.
The anger. The confusion. The wonder.
The fear. The shame. The disbelief. The hopelessness. The AWE.
And each of these feelings were
valid at the moment and also dependent on the circumstances they were
experiencing.
But let me repeat it…
HE. IS. RISEN.
That hasn’t
changed in 2000 years. It had been the plan the whole time. God’s plans are not
dependent on how we feel in the moment. It is His steadfastness that holds us
up through the rollercoaster of emotions. That remains the same. HE remains the same. He is good.
He is faithful. He is sovereign. He is a refuge. His understanding is far above ours. His ways cannot be understood. He takes what the enemy means for evil and
turns it for good. His resurrection
doesn’t take away pain, and it doesn’t take away suffering. But it brought the ultimate victory and
salvation. And knowledge of that resurrection is a place for joy to reside, a foundational
bedrock underneath those flowing feelings.
If we know we serve a risen Savior and we know that He is living, that
knowledge holds us to what is real and true in the midst of ebb and flow and
gives us solace and comfort and a foothold.
So as you go through this week, this month, this season of
staying at home – yes, feel the feelings.
The valid, multiple, differing feelings as your crazy life changes with the
wind. But anchor them to the joy that
comes from knowing your Savior is unchanging and ALIVE and the victor over sin
and death.
1 comment:
Thank you Michelle, I needed to hear this today
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