The Necessary Dim

This has been a season of “closed in”. Not only is our family of four sharing space alongside my parents in their 3-bedroom rancher, we find ourselves in a position of waiting and in a state altogether... dim. Things seem clouded, veiled, and yet more; as though we’ve been shut off from a clear picture of what we’re doing and what in the world God’s doing. It’s a scary place to be in; filled with voices of doubt and fear and restlessness. I don’t identify these things as merely attached to our current circumstances. I believe it’s something God’s doing in our life and with our hearts and for our faith. Things are looking pretty unconventional right now and most would simply see the circumstances as the entire means to what we’re feeling. And of course they fuse the current state of our thoughts and feelings in a very direct way. But I’m pushing to see this as something supernatural. God brought us here. We live in Spokane now and Danny works part-time at FedEx while in limbo with a second part-time job at Apple that has yet to take motion. We hadn’t seen ourselves staying with my parents through the fall, and now into the holidays. But it’s happening. And life has been hard. All the craziness of transitioning onward into parenting two children, my body’s unexpectedly drawn out, postpartum tidal waves, and simply the fact that we moved our family back to our hometown: there’s plenty of room for stress and emotions and more emotions. It’s amazing how often life works as a vice to squeeze and press and cause us to have to deal with greater chaos on the inside.  You don’t think there’s that much inside of yourself to have to confront and deal with until it comes screaming out under pressure lying in front of you as the plain and simple, horrific mess that it is. I feel more vulnerable than I ever have in my entire life. And all the more desperate for a big God.

            When everything is happening just so, it has a way of flooding my perspective with black ink. I feel jumbled and confused, wondering at my beliefs and clinging to the fact that God’s gotta be holding onto me. He has to be big enough for this to be God and so I have to go on expecting Him to be. It’s like a crisis of faith. But, ironically, the precise means to perfecting it. We’ve been told that God views our faith as of greater worth than gold refined by fire (see 1 Peter). And so He will refine it and allow the heat to go up and the impossibilities to simmer and the boiling point to happen. We don’t like the heat and the hurt and the heartache that fill the process. But He sees it as worth it. He sees us as worth it. I want to trust Him through it. I want to trust that He is the supernatural hand behind, what seems like, the not-so-optimal landscape of our life. And that His hands are loving and strong.

            Verses from songs come flooding in: “Your love is strong” and “My hands are holding you.” The former:

                                    I’ll be by your side whenever you fall

                                    In the dead of night whenever you call.

                                    Please don’t fight these hands that are holding you.

                                    My hands are holding you.

I press into the remembrances like promises. God is steady, as sure as the springtime always comes to break the winter and the sun rises everyday. “This too shall pass,” He’s told me. And so I hope on. Never have I had to resolve so strongly against my feelings; not denying them, but choosing, despite them, to trust. To trust God for everything that’s lacking in my faith and understanding. How much more fundamental can it get? I want to see this through, but the only way I know I can is by falling back into His hands believing that they are there and are, in fact, behind the events of my life.

            I’m glad that He’s been big enough to save me and will always be. He’s got to be Savior in every aspect of my life. Not just in one moment on the cross but in every moment after: remaking and restoring and regenerating and redeeming. And simply showing that His victory on the cross, and His love there, is an endless story; it brings life and makes provision for me in all circumstances.

                                    My hope is built on nothing less

                                    Than Jesus’ blood and righteousness;

                                    I dare not trust the sweetest frame

                                    But wholly lean on Jesus’ name.

                                    On Christ the solid Rock I stand;

                                    All other ground is sinking sand,

                                    All other ground is sinking sand.

He wants me to know Him as the Rock, just as this hymn proclaims Him to be. And so I have to figure out that all other ground is instable to then go on to stand simply on Him. And then to discover Him as that sure Rock. It’s a process and He’s patient with it and He's got the whole thing. Praise Him.

One of my favorite verses right now is 1 John 3:20: “For He is greater than our hearts, and He knows everything.” I am so thankful.

And, as it also says, "Being confident of this, that He who began a good work will carry it on to completion..." (Phil. 1:6)

Song references: Jon Foreman's "Your Love is Strong", Tenth Avenue North's "By Your Side", and Edward Mote's "My Hope is Built on Nothing Less".