Repost from Facebook Notes August 6, 2015
We are not built for weeks such as these. Depth of sorrow one day, soaring joy of miracles the next, trials building, resolutions coming, tremendous joy, and then crashing sorrow once again. All at the end of too many days, weeks, months of too much. Just too much. We stand in the middle of it, crying out much like Elijah, “I cannot take any more” “I cannot carry it one step further.” I have been there before, though it’s been a while. This time is different. I am still sunk in the vine, though the roots tremble and sway a bit right now. I know God‘s goodness. I know His strength. I know I do not walk alone, no matter what the world may see. And yet… Too much. And a different doubt creeps in.
I spend my days toiling, speaking with people, dealing with trauma and drama, planning and scheduling when I am not a planner or scheduler. I spend my days deep in compassion when I am not built for compassion, and seeking the way God means to move forward through trecherous quicksand bent on sucking me down, stopping me in my tracks. Or so it seems some days, these days of already too much. And then the one more swing from heights of joy, to depth of sorrow, and I wonder why. In the face of tragedy, what is the purpose of the mundane day to day?
In the grand scheme, why does it matter if Sunday Schools start back up on schedule? Why does it matter if other ministries begin when they were scheduled? Who cares if there is disruption in the worship service or if all the little pieces of paper for that special something have that little extra of every person’s name? What difference does it make if people come or go? Or someone takes a day off unexpectedly, even if it is a busy weekend, and I’m far past needing a day off? Would it really kill anything if I didn’t show up for one family game night, and french toast was left off the potluck menu? Who cares where the tables are left? All the little details, all the work left undone, in the face of eternity, pain, loss, despair, or of new life about to be… Why should I care when it seems so few others do?
If I live in a world where we are each caught in our own little worlds, lives lived inside the walls of our own homes, cars and minds, what possible difference can any of it make? Why, Father, am I driven to keep pushing, striving, pulling, tugging, exhorting or rebuking? Why, especially when it seems to no avail most days? What possible purpose, in the face of real pain, real trial, real loss… Except, I suppose that is precisely why.
How many are there walking in the world suffering those pains and sorrows without knowing God’s goodness? Drowning without His strength. How many walk alone, live lives inside the walls of their own homes and cars, and suffer locked into their minds with no hope of being known. How many of the almost 30 children who came to be blessed this past Sunday will face loss, tragedy, pain? How many already have? How many of them don’t know how loved they are? How many will be lost to the rage and pain of a world that cannot love them? How many of there parents or grandparents sit silent in the pews, terrified to find out what would happen if they opened up those walls, just a little bit, and really let Christ in? 30, 50, 100, more? What if it is only one? What if it were me, still lost there?
So, I will rise tomorrow. Swim against the current, plod forward with the schedule and the details that no one else will even see. I will search for the words, images and avenues to exhort, engage, and yes, even rebuke when I must. I will rest in Him as He allows. And I will run, even against the quicksand, when nothing seems to matter, and trust the Master’s plan. Because no one should stay lost while I have breath to speak His truth and love. And only He knows what really matters in the face of tragedy, eternity and life.
Pray always, and glorify the Lord.